


In the Midst of Life

by chains_archivist



Category: Highlander: The Series, Oz (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Boys in Chains, Harsh Language, M/M sex (not all of it consensual), Multi, Prison, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Carin ontagne and dargelos </p><p>Raines is convicted of murder and sent to Oswald Maximum Security Penitentiary. While his friends plot and plan to get him out, he discovers a pre-immortal inmate, and the stakes are raised. </p><p>Warnings: We have M/M sex (not all of it consensual), violence, harsh language, adult situations, etc. But this is Oz, after all. What else did you expect from a show on cable that always gets the "only suitable for adults" tag? Consider yourself warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).
> 
> Rating: Adult/Slash/Crossover  
> Character listing: D, M, J, A, Cory Raines, misc. Oz characters   
> Summary: Raines is convicted of murder and sent to Oswald Maximum Security Penitentiary. While his friends plot and plan to get him out, he discovers a pre-immortal inmate, and the stakes are raised.   
> Archive at: Seventh-Dimension, all others please ask first. 
> 
> We don't own 'em. If we did, do you really think we'd be sharing? The characters belong to D/P/P and Levinson/Fontana. We just played cafeteria here, choosing what we wanted and skipping the mystery meat. We promise to return it all, if TPTB still want it when we're finished.   
> Warning to all potential readers: We have M/M sex (not all of it consensual), violence, harsh language, adult situations, etc. But this is Oz, after all. What else did you expect from a show on cable that always gets the "only suitable for adults" tag? Consider yourself warned.

Life and death. In Oz, that's what it's all about. Life and death. Will you wake up dead? If not, will you live through breakfast? What about lunch? And dinner? And everything in between. And if you do manage to survive, are you alive? 

Prisoner number 00R651, Cory Raines. Convicted September 22, 2000, murder in the first degree. Sentence, life. Up for parole in 35 years. 

*************** 

It was the most powerful Quickening he'd ever taken. He could feel the electricity surging through his blood, could feel the pain and passion fighting for supremacy. He was aware of the pavement beneath his knees, though he had no memory of falling. His arms ached from the effort of holding the sword, but he refused to let it drop. The bolts wracked his body, and he screwed his eyes shut, hoping he'd survive the agony. 

As suddenly as it had started, it ended, with one final jolt that seemed to arrow into his eyes. Emotionally and physically drained, Cory Raines slumped over, breath ragged and uneven. He waited for the Quickening to settle and, as it did, he straightened back up. 

As soon as he opened his eyes, he wished he hadn't. There was no mistaking the cop on the next corner or his drawn service revolver. 

"Shit!" Cory managed a quick look around, spotting the headless former Immortal a few feet away. There was no time for thought. He stood, slowly and deliberately, and met the officer's eyes. 

Then he ran. 

*************** 

The silence of the courtroom hung heavy and expectant. Every eye was on the judge, trying to guess the verdict from his expression. Or lack of expression. He silently refolded the paper and held it out to the bailiff. 

The tension was choking. Amanda resisted the urge to bite her fingernails, settling instead for sharing a wink with Cory. It distracted her for the ten seconds it took the bailiff to return the verdict to the jury foreman. The foreman, a stodgy banker-type, straightened his tie and cleared his throat. 

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" The judge's voice boomed. 

"We have, Your Honor." The banker puffed up with self-importance. Amanda found herself staring at his pudgy hands, wondering if he could condemn a man without them trembling. They were still. 

"What say you?" 

"In the matter of State versus Cory Raines on the sole count of murder, we find the defendant --" The hush deepened, and the banker-turned-puffer-fish flushed. "Guilty." 

Amanda felt her chest tighten. She tried to draw a deep breath and nearly gagged instead. The spectators abandoned their eager breathlessness in favor of whispers and words. 

The judge spoke over the din, not wasting a moment more than was necessary. "Do you want the jury polled?" 

Amanda didn't hear the defense attorney's response. She caught Cory's eyes, trying to communicate silently. His shrug told her she was getting nowhere. She shoved her way to the rail and caught Cory in a tight embrace. 

"I'll get you out," she breathed into his ear. 

With a devilish gleam in his eyes, he dipped her and kissed her soundly. He was pulled away by what appeared to be a professional wrestler in a cop's uniform and cuffed. As he was led out of the courtroom, Cory called back over his shoulder, "See ya, doll!" His wry smile never wavered.

*************** 

We all fear something. Maybe it's spiders. Maybe it's Friday the thirteenth. Most of us fear death, and some of us fear living. In Oz, maybe the worst thing of all is to be alive for no reason what-so-fucking-ever. 

*************** 

"Absolutely not!" 

Amanda hadn't expected it to be easy. She lowered her eyes and wrung her hands in her best 'damsel-in-distress' pose. She measured the success of her ploy from under her heavily mascaraed eyelashes. 

Duncan MacLeod sat awkwardly on the Queen Anne chair she'd led him to. His arms were crossed firmly over his chest, and his face was hard and almost angry. The 'almost' was the only progress she'd made in the past few minutes. 

"We can't just let them cart him off to Sing Sing!" She let the slightest hint of desperation creep into her voice. "They'll eat him alive!" 

"Cory's been around a long time. I'm sure he's learned a thing or two about survival." Duncan squirmed noticeably. "And it's Oswald, not Sing Sing." 

"They had a riot there a couple years ago!" 

"And?" 

She went in for the kill. " What if -- " She silenced him with a waving hand. "What if he dies in there? What then?" 

"It won't be permanent." 

"That's my point!" She reeled him in. "If it were you --" 

"It's not." 

She slid onto his lap, curling against Duncan's chest. "But if it were, I'm sure Cory would help you." 

There was a long pause, and Amanda thought she had him. She wiggled a little, employing all her wiles. 

She was wrong. 

Duncan stood, dumping her in a decidedly undignified heap onto the floor. "At what price? No, Amanda. I'm sorry, but no." He didn't offer her a hand up. He started for the door, scooping up his duster from the couch as he passed. 

Time for the trump card. "Then I'll just have to do it by myself." He froze in his tracks, and she went on, "I don't need your help, anyway." She lurched to her feet and stormed into her bedroom. 

She listened for his following footsteps. Once she was sure he was coming, she pulled her work kit out from behind a false panel inside the closet. She yanked the bag open, feigning anger. Amanda made an overly obvious check of the bag's contents: various lockpicks, both electronic and manual, and assortment of other "toys." Her tools of the trade. 

"What are you doing?" 

Amanda looked up to see Duncan leaning against the doorframe, an irritated, patronizing look on his face. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting my things together, and I'm going to break my friend out of jail." She closed the bag with an audible snap and grabbed her black wool cape from its hanger. 

Duncan's sigh was long and loud. "I'll help." 

She hid a grin as she fastened the cape. "I don't need your help. I can do it on my own." 

His hand closed over hers, and he removed the bag from her grasp. "No way. I don't want to have to spring both of you. We'll come up with a plan." 

She didn't bother to hide her smile anymore. 

With Duncan recruited, Amanda knew she had more than one powerful ally. They brainstormed at his place for a while, agreed that they needed someone with a little pull, and went down to Joe's, where they found Dawson and Methos discussing temple prostitution. Amanda wanted to listen, but Duncan insisted on cutting to the chase. "Cory'll be out on parole before we get off this subject," he warned her. And with that, he filled Dawson in on the problem and their tentative solution. And Duncan told Joe what they wanted from him. 

Naturally he agreed. Joe was a good guy. He was also awfully cute, and Amanda wondered if rewarding him personally when all this was over might not be a good plan. 

"Count me in, too." 

All three heads spun to stare at the speaker. Methos blinked back at them, his face a study in innocence. "What? Don't you want my help?" 

Amanda was the first to recover. She took his hand and pressed it to her heart. "Thank you, sweetheart. I appreciate it." 

Methos smirked and managed to stick his tongue out at Duncan. MacLeod wasn't fooled. "What's the catch?" 

"You know, your lack of faith in me is overwhelming." Methos snagged the beer bottle from Joe's hand as he reached to set it down. After a quick sip, he went on, "I'm beginning to think you don't trust me." 

"Whatever gave you that idea?" The sarcasm dripped from the Highlander's tongue. "Why are you helping?" 

Joe lowered himself into the chair next to Amanda, directly across from Methos. "I have to admit, I'm curious, too." 

Amanda released his hand, and she joined Joe and Duncan in disbelief. "Out with it, Methos. What's in it for you?" 

With an exaggerated sigh, he leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. He still clutched the beer like it was a life preserver. "It never hurts to have a bank robber owe you a favor. You never know when his skills could come in handy." He glared over at Duncan, daring him to question the statement. 

Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, fearless warrior and protector of innocents, withered under the five thousand-year-old scowl. "It'll do," he mumbled. 

Instantly, Amanda rebounded back into her usual self. "This is going to be fun!" she crowed, eyes twinkling dangerously. 

*************** 

Sometimes living on in a void can be worse than dying. Sometimes you can be the living dead and not really know it until something or someone comes along to poke open all the old wounds and let the poison drain. But when that happens, it's rarely simple and always painful. Maybe it's better just to go on being zombified. 

*************** 

"Is this Sr. Peter-Marie Reimondo?" 

"Yes, it is. Who's calling?" 

"Joe Dawson. I'm a Watcher." 

Sister Pete slouched down into her chair, the phone against her ear nearly forgotten. The Watchers. Now there was a blast from the past. The memories dredged up were not pleasant ones. 

"What do you want?" He voice was tighter than she'd planned. It sounded cold to her ears. 

"How are you, Sister?" 

Irritation boiled up in her stomach. "Fine, thanks for asking. What do you want?" 

She heard his sigh through the line. "I know how difficult this must have been for you." 

She lost it. "The hell you do! Leonard is dead, thanks to your Watchers!" 

Dawson's voice was soft. "They were his Watchers, too." 

"Up until the day you got him killed!" She knew she was being irrational. The wound caused by her husband's death had been slow to heal. Learning the identity of his killer from William Giles had re-opened it. 

Leonard had been a Watcher for most of his life. The day he'd died, he'd been trailing his assignment. It was this which had placed him on the truck. She'd blamed it on the Watchers for so long that it was more habit now, than anything else. 

Dawson chose to ignore her outburst. "Sister? Listen, I need a favor." 

"Favor? What kind of favor?" Her hackles rose. She had spent many years trying to forget about the Watchers, and now they wanted a favor? The nerve! 

"There's a man coming to Oswald. An Immortal." 

*************** 

News travels. 

"Excuse me? McManus? Can I talk to you?" Agamemnon Busmalis hovered outside the office door. 

Tim looked up and tossed the file down on the desk. He waved Busmalis in and crossed his arms. Leaning back in the chair, he waited for the other shoe to drop. "What is it?" 

Busmalis stepped into the office and slid into a chair. "I hear Cory Raines is coming into Oz." 

Tim scowled. "Yeah. And? Is there a point any time in the near future? I'm a busy man." 

"Oh! Right!" Busmalis fidgeted a bit, then swept his hat off his head and twisted it in his hands. "Is he coming to Emerald City?" 

"Why do you care?" 

"Well, he's Cory Raines!" Busmalis beamed. "Can I be his sponsor? Please, McManus?" 

Tim shrugged. He didn't really care who sponsored Raines. He didn't even particularly care if Raines lived or died. Sister Pete had called in a long-overdue favor and had convinced him to take the bank robber-turned-murderer. "Whatever." 

The smile that spread across Busmalis' face was almost beatific. "Thank you!" He dropped the hat back on his head and would have pumped McManus' hand if Tim hadn't withdrawn it quickly. 

"Out, Busmalis." Tim shook his head in amusement as the inmate scuttled out. 

He picked up the file on Raines again, wondering what his connection was to Peter Marie. 

*************** 

"It really is an honor to meet you! I've followed your career for several years now, and it is spectacular!" 

Cory's stomach spun. If Busmalis didn't shut up, and soon, he might be forced to strangle the man. He tried to ignore the prattling and get a good look around. 

Some god with a twisted sense of humor had seen fit to have Cory assigned to an experimental unit. There were no bars, only Plexiglas walls. The inmates seemed to have some freedom of movement, which, he told himself, would be helpful. 

He carried his small bundle of bedding and toiletries into the room Busmalis pointed out, noticing that his sponsor remained a safe distance from the door. It took Cory all of thirty seconds to find out why. 

"You must be my new roomie." The voice belonged to a middle-aged man braced against one of the solid walls. There was ice in his tone and more than a little warning. "What's your name?" 

Dropping the bundle on the bottom bunk, Cory extended a hand. "Cory Raines. And you are?" 

The hand ignored, the man gave Cory a quick but thorough looking over. He nodded and a smile squirmed across his face. "Vern Schillinger. Learn this now, pretty boy. This is my pod. Everything in it belongs to me. That includes you. Got it?" 

*************** 

"Fresh meat," O'Reily observed as he and Keller watched the new guy cross the quad with Busmalis almost hopping along by his side. "Oh, look at that. Vern's got him. How long d'you think he'll keep his cherry?" 

"Twenty-four hours, max," Keller said, his eyes elsewhere. He had reason to know, but O'Reily never liked to pass up a chance to make a quick buck off someone, so long as he could make it a sure thing. How to make it a sure thing and before Vern had his chance to nail Raines...that was the hard part. 

"Maybe." 

"Count on it," Keller said. Ryan followed the man's line of sight and found...oh big surprise here... Beecher at the other end. Beecher walking towards Vern's pod, Beecher scoping out the new guy, too. And Keller didn't look pleased. 

"Think Beech might get him first?" O'Reily asked, and he was rewarded with a near snarl from Keller. "Okay, okay, just asking. That'd frost Vern's cookies, though, wouldn't it? Raines. I know that name. Cory Raines..." 

"Bank robber," Keller said, never taking his eyes off Beecher, who was lounging around outside Schillinger's pod looking available. 

"Oh yeah! Never convicted. Until now." 

"Got him on a murder charge." 

"No shit." 

The door to the pod opened, and Raines came out, looking irritated. He saw Toby, and the scowl morphed into a smile. They spoke, and Beecher led him off towards his pod, right past where Keller and O'Reily stood. 

Suddenly Raines stopped and looked up, straight at Keller; looked him right in the eye with an expression of bemusement and surprise. O'Reily could see him ask Beecher, "Who's that?" and Beecher looked up. Right, like he had no idea he was being observed. 

"You know him?" Ryan asked Keller. 

"Nope." 

"He sure seems interested in you." 

"Won't that be handy?" Chris replied, and he walked on off to his own pod. 

And won't it be interesting? O'Reily thought. 

*************** 

Life means different things to different people. Is it mere existence? Does breathing automatically mean you're alive? Or is there more to it? Is survival life? And, on the other side of the coin, what is death? When your heart stops beating, is it all over? And if so, what happens if it starts up again? 

*************** 

"Oh, baby, it's good to see you," Cory said, pulling Amanda into his arms. They kissed. "You look good enough to eat." 

"So do you, lover," she cooed at him. She moved in for a kiss and whispered, "This place turns me on. So many lonely men." Cory laughed out loud, and Amanda grinned at him. "Let's sit. Tell me all about life here." 

"We're not all lonely," he told her as he nuzzled her cheek. "I've already had half a dozen requests for intimate favors." 

"Oh, you poor thing!" She stroked his face. "Are you holding out for something more violent?" she whispered. "You have such kinky tastes." 

"There's one person I want to mindfuck good before I leave here. Aryan jerk named Schillinger. God, I wish he could see you." 

Amanda laughed, and produced a photograph of herself wearing some very expensive jewelry and little else. "I thought you could use this." 

"You're an angel!" He tucked it into his shirt pocket after an appreciative look and a low whistle. "Write me lewd letters." 

"Anything you want, baby. I have to keep you hap- ..." She turned towards the door just as Chris Keller walked into the room. "Cory..." 

Raines groaned. "Crap." 

"You knew?" she demanded in a tense whisper. "And you haven't said anything?" 

"Let me explain." 

"You'd better." 

"Hey, Raines. This your wife?" Keller was hanging over them suddenly, eyes on Amanda in that way he had. 

"Girlfriend," Amanda told him. "My name is Amanda. And you are?" 

"Chris Keller. Very pleased to meet you, Amanda," he said in a low purr. Cory was horrified to hear Amanda giggle. She couldn't be buying this crap, could she? 

"If you ever get tired of Cory, Amanda, you can come visit me." He winked at her and went off to greet his own visitor, a beautiful Asian woman who looked less than happy to have witnessed Keller's fascination with Amanda. A few kisses, though, and she was rubbing up against him like a kitten. 

Amanda watched, open-mouthed. "Ohmygod," she sighed. "We have to do something about that." 

"Amanda!" Cory hissed. 

"C'mon and kiss me, lover," she cooed at him. And when he got up close she bit down on his earlobe just hard enough to make a point, then whispered, "You weren't going to tell us there's a pre-immortal in this place, were you, you weasel?" 

"Honey, don't be that way," Cory said, trying to pull away. Damn, she had a grip. 

Amanda stroked his cheek. "You'd just leave it, wouldn't you?" she asked. "You don't give a damn about anyone but yourself." She collected her things and got up. "I don't know you anymore," she declared in a moment of high drama, just before she stalked out. 

"Oooh, tough luck, Raines," Keller said, watching Amanda go. 

"Fuck off." 

*************** 

"Sister?" 

Peter Marie glanced over the top of her glasses at the speaker. "Yes? Come in, Cory." 

Raines took the couple paces between the door and the desk quickly, slamming the door behind him. He lowered himself into the chair, and she was all too aware of his scrutinizing gaze the entire time. She didn't speak, waiting to see how he would begin. She met his eyes and held them frankly. 

"So." He picked up a pen from the corner of her desk and spun it through his fingers like a majorette's baton. "You're the shrink-in-residence?" He flashed her his patented million-watt smile. "And I hear you look kindly on fellas like me." 

"If you mean murderers and thieves, you heard wrong. And yes, I am the shrink." 

Raines' laugh was almost a bark. "No, I meant -- um, well, I meant --" 

She'd had enough dancing. It was time for the goodnight kiss. "You meant Immortals." 

Visibly relieved, he set the pen down gingerly. "So what's the plan?" 

In spite of herself, Pete found him appealing. Cory Raines had a sincere manner, and he was quite the charmer. In a flash, the resemblance caught her. Raines had the same deceptive openness as Chris Keller. Her defenses shot up, and she became all business. 

"Well, Duncan MacLeod is here. I managed to call in a favor, and Warden Glynn hired him as a guard." She nearly choked on a giggle at the disbelief on his face. "And I believe there will be another plant in the infirmary, but that's still sketchy." 

"Mackie-Boy agreed to help?" Raines swallowed, trying to mask his obvious surprise. "He's always been such a white hat. Wonder what Amanda had to do to swing that?" 

A bell rang, indicating it was lunchtime. Pete stood. "I'll keep you posted. For now, be careful. And Cory?" 

He had been pushing himself up from the chair, but the warning in her voice made him pause. 

"Watch out for Vernon Schillinger. He's dangerous." 

"Tell me something I don't know." 

*************** 

"We have a problem," Amanda told the assembled group. "There's a pre-immortal in Oswald." 

"Where's the problem?" Methos asked, earning a foul look from Amanda. 

"Ohhh, shit," MacLeod groaned. "This is just getting better and better. Who is he, and what's he done?" 

"His name is Chris Keller. I've asked some of my sources about him, and they've come up with an interesting profile. He's a con man, and a damn good one from what I've heard, but he's in for felony murder," she said, consulting her notes. "Two counts attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, robbery, driving under the influence, reckless driving. That got him eighty-eight years. He's eligible for parole in fifty, and I don't think he'll make parole. He's already confessed to being involved in a situation in which another inmate got his arms and legs broken. He'll die in that place." 

"What else?" Duncan asked. 

"What?" 

"I asked what else you had on him. I know that expression, Amanda." 

There was no use in trying to hide from Duncan. "The Feds have been investigating him on charges of serial murder." 

There was a long silence, then Methos said, "I vote we get him out and behead him." 

Duncan gave him a look. "You're a fine one to judge," he snapped. 

"I'm exactly the right one to judge, Duncan. I've been there, as you never tire of reminding me. If he's that dangerous..." 

"They haven't found any evidence against him in any of the murders," Amanda reminded them. "If they had, they'd be all over him, and we all know it." 

"That doesn't mean he didn't do them," Duncan reminded her. "And that makes him a potential threat. My willingness to get him out of prison is strictly conditional." 

"Suspicion isn't the same as a fact, is it? Either way, if we leave him in there we run the risk of him dying and becoming immortal, and the world finding out about us." 

"So the sensible thing to do is to get him out and behead him," Methos repeated. 

"The sensible thing is to find out if he's trainable. He deserves a chance at his destiny, Methos." 

"MacLeod, you are the biggest hypocrite I've ever met." 

"I'd say the same for you, but I suspect you'd enjoy the accusation; you're just that perverse." 

Amanda left the room. She never liked watching Methos and Duncan picking at each other like that. Joe joined her a minute or two later. 

"Hammer and tongs," he said, rolling his eyes. "They'll be slugging it out in there for hours." 

"And end up in bed," she said with a little quirk of her mouth. "They're so twisted, Joe." 

Joe laughed that big, Joe Dawson laugh of his. "I don't think I've ever met one of you who isn't. No offense." 

"None taken. Joe...where do you stand on this?" 

"I'm a Watcher, Amanda. Any immortal is precious to me, even though I recognize that some are very dangerous. I'm with Duncan on this. We need to get him out and see what he's going to be like." 

"I'm willing to concede that." 

"Then I think Methos is out-voted," Joe said with a grin. 

*************** 

Do all people deserve to live? Is life, once given, yours by right? And if it is, should society punish anyone who takes it away? We imprison murderers. They take life in the most obvious way. But what about jailers? They take life and bastardize it, make it a mere shadow of what it is supposed to be. Should they be punished? Where is the line? 

*************** 

Duncan joined in the applause, never taking his eyes off the warden. The speech had been just a little too pat, as if it had been repeated word for word a thousand times. Still, the welcoming, hopeful look on Leo Glynn's face had been sincere. With any luck, this would all go smoothly. 

Duncan had previous experience with prisons, none of it good. When he'd stepped through the gates at Oswald, memories of Andersonville had come pouring out of his subconscious and into the present. As a prisoner of the Civil War prison, Duncan had seen humanity at its worst. He could only hope modern prisons were an improvement. 

"MacLeod! This way." 

Yanked out of his thoughts, Duncan spotted the woman calling his name. She waited impatiently at the door for him to reach her. When he was within a few steps, she turned and began walking, obviously expecting him to follow. He did. 

"Murphy asked me to bring you to Em City. Probably too busy sucking off McManus." She spoke over her shoulder, her eyes flickering up and down. Duncan had the strange sense that he was being inspected. 

"Anyway, I'm Claire Howell. I'm in solitary, so we'll only see each other in the lounge or the locker room. Or after the shift ends." She stopped walking in front of a gate and signaled to the guards in the watch room. As the gate slid open, she pointed to a control center on the landing of a stairway. "Murphy's up there. The one who's going bald." She gave him one last appraising look then took her leave with, "Let me offer you some advice on your first day. Watch that tight little ass of yours. Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to it." 

Duncan bit back a rude comment. He told himself she had to be gutsy to hold her own in a men's prison. He also told himself to be wary of Officer Claire Howell. She reeked of trouble. 

*************** 

Ryan O'Reilly scooted his chair closer to the checkerboard. His mind was anywhere but on the game in front of him. Not that it mattered. Busmalis was so involved in his conversation with Rebadow, he'd never notice if Ryan cheated. 

Ryan had spotted the new CO when he'd returned from serving dinner. MacLeod. A Scot, and a potential ally. He'd have to retool the "for Ireland" ploy he'd used on Murphy to include other Celts. Ryan was mentally calculating how best to weasel his way into the big man's good graces when MacLeod suddenly started toward the table. 

"Evening, gentlemen." MacLeod nodded a brief greeting to the table, eyes burning holes in the back of an inmate on the stairs. 

Ryan followed the gaze to Keller. His interest piqued, he left the table and joined him. "Hey!" He clapped Keller's shoulder. "You already pissed off the new hack." He dropped onto the step above Keller. 

Keller shrugged. "He keep looking at me like he wants to fuck me. What can I say? Must be my girlish figure." 

"Or your imagination." Ryan grinned at his own witty repartee. "What's his story?" 

"Fuck if I know." 

*************** 

As a rule, Cory stayed out of the pod until the last possible minute. He wasn't afraid of Schillinger, but he didn't want to provoke him, either. Three days and three nights had passed, mostly uneventfully. So far, Schillinger had been all talk. This night, though, Cory was fairly certain the talking was over. 

He finished brushing his teeth and rinsed his mouth out, keeping his podmate in view with the mirror. The room was strangely silent. It was almost unnerving. On impulse, Cory called him on it. 

"Why so quiet, Verno?" He kicked off his shoes and sat on the bottom bunk, directly across from the desk chair Schillinger occupied. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep without you flapping your gums. What do you say?" His smile was guileless, even if his tone wasn't. "How about a bedtime story?" 

Anger flashed briefly in Schillinger's eyes, but he didn't move. Cory figured he'd pushed his luck. There would be a confrontation tonight. Unwilling to back down, Cory dove in. 

"And here I thought you were King Rat around here. You're harmless!" Cory stretched out on the bed, never taking his eyes off of Schillinger. "You're nothing but hot air, Verno." 

That did it. Schillinger flew across the pod and pinned Cory to the bed, arms against his sides. "Shut up, prag!" 

He couldn't help it. Cory laughed in his face. It earned him a vicious slap, but the movement freed his arm. In less than a second, their positions were reversed. Cory lay atop Schillinger, holding him down by sheer body weight and several hundred years of experience. 

Cory kept laughing as Schillinger sputtered with rage. "I bet you thought I was some little pansy. You want me? You think you can have me?" He stood up and beckoned. "C'mon, Verno. You want me? Come and get me." His voice dropped to a low hiss. "Come here, PRAG." 

Schillinger stood, face red and eyes narrow. "You nasty little fuck! When I get through with you, you'll be begging to suck my dick, pretty boy." He took a menacing step toward Cory. 

The shank appeared out of nowhere. Cory was pretty sure Schillinger hadn't had it thirty seconds earlier, but it was in his hand now, all the same. "Shame on you!" He put as much derision as he could into the words. "And I thought this was just a civilized little argument between friends." 

With a roar, Schillinger charged. As he did, Cory dropped to a crouch and caught him by the knees. Schillinger fell hard, and Cory came up with the homemade knife. He leveled the blade at the Nazi's crotch. Schillinger froze, sprawled on the concrete floor, sheer terror on his face. 

Cory slowly trailed the blade up to Schillinger's neck. He let the point dig into the soft flesh just beneath the jaw. "Know what I'm in for, Verno?" 

Schillinger tried to draw away from the shank. Cory responded by moving it to his ear. "I cut a man's head off." An evil grin played at the corners of Cory's mouth. "In fact, now that I think about it, he wasn't the first. If you really want to be next, I'm sure it could be arranged." 

He waited for Schillinger to shake his head. "I didn't think so." Cory palmed the knife and pulled his now-trembling podmate to his feet. "So, Verno. We have an understanding, right?" 

"Don't call me Verno." There was very little venom in Schillinger's voice. 

Cory laughed. "Whatever you say, Verno. Now about that blowjob..." His voice trailed off, and he glanced out the glass of the pod. His eyes met those of MacLeod, and they shared a wink. 

*************** 

"Hey, Raines!'' Ryan jogged to catch up with the newest inmate. 

Raines glanced at him over his tray. "O'Reilly, right?" He kept walking toward the tables. 

"Yeah. Look, we need to talk." 

"So talk." Raines slid into an empty seat beside Beecher. 

Ryan spotted Pancamo out of the corner of his eye. The big Italian was temporarily distracted, and Ryan took advantage of the free minute. He leaned down, bracing himself on one arm on the table beside Raines. "I think you and I could do some business." 

The answering smile was wry and a little wistful. "Now, I'm not usually the kind to pass up a business opportunity, O'Reilly, but I don't want what you're selling." 

Ryan feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talkin' about." 

"I understand you provide -- um, let's call it 'chemical enhancement' -- for a small fee." Raines picked at his chicken nuggets and frowned. "No chance we could get an upgrade on this, is there?" 

"I'll see what I can do." Ryan leaned in closer. "I didn't mean the tits, man." 

"O'Reilly!" Pancamo's voice boomed across the cafeteria. 

Ryan ignored it. "I saw your little show with Schillinger last night." 

The smile returned, and Raines winked up at Ryan. "You think that was a show? That was just the preview! The main event is yet to come." He picked up a nugget and bit into it, licking his lips as he swallowed. 

Ryan retreated a step. He was smart enough to spot a crocodile at twenty paces. Something in Raines' eyes reminded him a little too much of Keller. Caution would be a good idea. Still, there was money to be made, and he wasn't above using a crocodile if it suited his purposes. "That's what I'm talking about." 

"O'Reilly! Get your skinny mick ass back here now, or I'll transfer you and your brother to the sweatshop!" Pancamo's anger was growing. Ryan knew better than to challenge him. 

"We need to talk, Raines." He locked eyes with Raines, hoping to get his point across. 

It worked. Raines nodded, and replied, "Yes. Yes, I think we do." 

*************** 

Amanda drummed her perfectly manicured nails on the Formica tabletop. She'd been waiting, in her opinion, far too long for Cory. She was restless and fidgety, and she was seriously considering leaving, when the door swung open. 

The motion caught her eye. She looked up, a stern expression firmly in place, ready to make Cory suffer for the wait. It wasn't Cory, though. 

Normally, that would have irritated Amanda further. In this case, however, the man who entered was almost as interesting as Cory himself. He was a tall, well-muscled man with long blond hair that just begged to be touched. Amanda checked the urge to reach out a hand, and flashed him a smile instead. 

He grinned back brightly and took a seat at the table next to hers. He sat quietly and still, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. He continued to look openly at her, his smile fading. 

Amanda, never one to pass up a chance to flirt, turned the full force of her femininity on him. She licked her lips and stared directly into his eyes. "Hi." 

"Hi." His response was less-than-encouraging. 

Amanda figured he must be, like most men in her experience, clueless. She redoubled her efforts. She crossed her legs, making sure her skirt slid just a bit higher on her thighs. "Are you here to visit someone?" she purred. 

That drew a reaction. His eyes lit up, and he became animated. "My Aunt Brenda." 

Understanding dawned. Unless Oswald had become co-ed in the past two days, Amanda was flirting with an inmate. It was a mild disappointment. She'd been half-hoping he could be a temporary diversion, while she waited for Cory's escape. Still, she told herself, there was nothing wrong with a little innocent flirtation. 

"I'm Amanda." She reached across the space between the tables to offer her hand. She made sure to lean far enough over to show some cleavage. 

"Oh!" He took her hand and pumped it repeatedly. "You're Cory's girlfriend. I saw the picture you gave him. You have nice bazooms!" His words tumbled over each other as he spoke, and his smile widened. "My name's Cyril." 

It all became clear. Amanda was a little ashamed of herself. She'd been flirting with a child -- a handsome, manly child, but a child. She sat a little straighter and switched gears from 'femme fatale' to 'older sister.' 

"Hi, Cyril." She was vaguely embarrassed that he'd seen the pictures, but she pushed the feeling away. "It's nice to meet you."


	2. Chapter 2

And then there's the "little death." That's what Shakespeare called it. Scholars will tell you it's a euphemism for orgasm. As if you could compare it to death! That's when a man is most alive! He's taking part in procreation, which is all about life. Ergo, sex equals life. So this "little death" thing? Maybe we should rename it the "little life." 

*************** 

There was a certain amount of tension in Em City every night, but on this particular evening, it was higher than usual for two reasons. The first was that McManus had taken the very interesting step of putting Beecher and Keller back together. That was always good for a floorshow, if nothing else, and Ryan O'Reily was taking bets on whether it was going to be fight or fuck that night. Fuck was leading by 3-to-1. 

The other reason ñ and perhaps related in some way, smart money said it was ñ was that Schillinger had made it clear to anyone who wanted to know, that he wasnít going to be put off any longer. Cory Rainesí sweet ass was going to be his that night, or theyíd both die in the attempt. Ryan was taking wagers on the outcome of that rendezvous, too. 

It was going to be an interesting night. Several of the inmates had been heard at count, wishing for nice big bowls of popcorn. 

Lights out came at ten sharp, and as eyes adjusted to the darkness, there was a general exodus to the pod doors. Even those who didnít stand a hope in hell of seeing either show tried to find an angle, a reflection in a mirror, something; anything would be better than wondering, or imagining themselves nailing Miss July on the weight bench in the gym. 

But one of the watchers was Chris Keller, and Tobias Beecher, who had been prepared for a fight (and then a good, hard fuck ñ Jesus Christ, but he had missed sex with Chris!) leaned against the bunks and glared at the manís back. "Whatís so fucking interesting?" 

"Vern and Raines are dancing." 

"For Godís sake, Chris, you donít have to watch Vern rape him, do you?" 

"My moneyís on Raines," Chris said, without looking around. 

Despite himself, Toby was interested. "What díyou mean?" 

"Whatever happens tonight, Vern is not going to come out ahead on this deal. Raines is one sly little piece of work." 

Toby joined him at the door and watched as the two shadowed figures moved around the pod. Raines slipped away from Schillinger over and over again, graceful, seemingly unconcerned. It really was sort of amusing in a sick way, Toby decided. 

But then Vern cornered the thief, and his face was briefly illuminated. When Toby saw that look, his stomach did a back flip and ended up at about knee level. "I think you just lost your bet," he told Chris, turning away from the inevitable. 

"I donít think so." Chris caught him by the back of the neck and gently, but firmly, turned him back towards the door, holding him there, making him watch as Schillinger pushed Raines down onto the bed, and pulled his shorts off. 

"Chris, let go." 

"Toby, pay attention, I have this gut feeling that something strange is gonna happen. Youíll kick yourself if you miss it." 

"Iíll kick you if I have to watch that man suffer." 

Finally Chris turned to look at him. "You think I donít know what it feels like?" he asked softly. 

Oh, fuck you, Toby, fuck you and your boring icks. Get over them. Just be with him this once on his terms. He slipped his arm around Chrisí waist and moved close enough that he could press himself up against that solid, comforting warmth. "Okay," he said and felt Chris pull him close. 

Raines didnít seem tense. His expression, caught in the bit of light that flowed through the pod door and window, was relaxed, even amused, as Vern positioned himself. There were a few moments that Toby couldnít watch as Vern shoved his cock into Raines, and he was surprised to feel Chrisís hand stroking his arm, to hear Chris say, "Donít worry, baby, Raines is gonna get his own back. Just wait." 

When Toby finally looked back, he saw Raines looking bored as Vern labored away on top of him, and he couldnít help himself; he laughed. "Oh, God, look at the expression," he gurgled. Then Raines waved at them; just a little waggle of fingers in their direction, and Toby hiccuped with laughter. 

Vern mustíve said something, because Raines half turned as if he was listening, and an expression of sheer malice crossed his pretty features. He started making what Chris called "porno-faces." Toby looked around; the other inmates were amused by the show, too. 

Then suddenly Raines began to vocalize. He started moaning and groaning loudly enough to be heard outside the pod, which alerted the hacks, and just as the lights went back on and the COs came pouring down the stairs, he shouted "OH GOD, FUCK ME HARDER, YOU NAZI BITCH!" 

Everything stopped, including Vern. Even the hacks stopped dead in their tracks, stunned by the wholly unexpected turn of events. Then the laughter started. It began with Raines gurgling, "DO IT TO ME, MANDINGO!" and collapsing on the bed in hysterics, continued with the other inmates howling and pounding the pod walls in approval, and with the hacks, almost helpless with laughter, trying to get into the pod to separate Raines and Schillinger. In fact, the only one who didnít seem amused was Vern, which made it all the funnier, particularly for Toby and Chris who had to hold each other up, they were laughing so hard. 

By the time the pod was opened and Raines and Schillinger had been hauled out of it, bare-assed naked, Vern was so red in the face he looked as if he might have a stroke. Raines was still laughing, and every time Vern tried to hit him, he danced away and blew kisses at Schillinger. "Vern, you big, hunky man, you know I love you!" he yelled. "Oh, Vern, you promised youíd take me home to meet your folks!" He was holding a pillow when the hacks dragged him out of the pod, and he cradled it as if it was a baby and said, "But he looks just like you, Vernon! You know itís yours! You know itís your baby!" 

There was a spontaneous round of applause from the other prisoners. Raines took a couple of bows while the hacks tried to subdue Vern, who was so angry he was almost foaming at the mouth. Vern kept screaming, "Youíre a dead man!" and Raines would double over with laughter each time. Toby heard Murphy yell, "Take him to ad seg!" and the guards, still laughing, dragged a raving Vern off to the hole. 

He didnít hear what Murphy said to Raines, but Raines nodded, wiped his eyes, shook his head in response to a question, and walked back into the pod. The lights went out, and Raines flopped down on his bunk, looking pretty self-satisfied. 

Toby was still laughing when warm lips brushed his neck and ear. "They wonít bother coming around any time soon," Chris whispered. The speed at which this man could switch gears was staggering. 

Toby turned to meet that warm, hungry mouth, and lost himself in the sweetness of it. He knew they were being watched, even that the hacks knew, and would probably do nothing now, after the Vern and Cory Show. He fell into that long-awaited kiss, clinging to Chris the way a drowning man clings to hope. Long fingers stroked, teased him, insinuated themselves under his clothing, pulled his tee shirt up over his head, and pushed his shorts down. The big, hard-muscled body pressed him up against the glass. Oh, god, the whole of Em City was going to know what his backside looked like all flattened out, but he didnít mind one bit, because he knew that theyíd also see the sign, like neon: "PROPERTY OF CHRIS KELLER." And thatís just the way Toby wanted it. 

They stumbled towards the beds, still locked together, Toby trying to strip off Chrisí undershirt, and Chris trying to get his own shorts off, and both of them laughing, remembering Raines' deft take-down of Vern. 

"Right up there with shitting on his face," Chris said with a laugh, as Toby tugged him down to lie beside himself. 

"I wish Iíd been able to do what he just did. I hope heís okay in there." 

"Heíll be fine." 

"What makes you so sure, hotshot?" Toby asked, but the question wasnít particularly pointed, coming, as it did, during a leisurely exploration of the interesting ways their bodies seemed to fit together. After that show the hacks probably wouldnít be around for a couple of hours. 

"I donít know. He just seems to have ohgodtooooebeeee," he groaned as Beecher made the Great Double Whammy move of slipping one finger up Chrisí ass while kissing and licking the head of his cock. 

"What? What does he have?" Toby asked, softly, not expecting an answer, really. He always enjoyed watching Chris squirm like this. Two fingers, slow fuck, lips nibbling along the underside of the rigid shaft. 

"I dunno...who?" Chris breathed, and Toby laughed softly into the darkness. He knew they were being watched, that the smart money was on them fucking each other silly tonight, or rather on Chris fucking Toby sillier. Well it was going to happen, but Toby thought it might be interesting to throw just a little spice into the mix. 

"Let me do you." A breathy "hnh?" was the only response. "I want to fuck you, baby, want to do you good tonight." Fingers worked forward, and Chris arched up off the narrow bed with a low groan. "Let me fuck you." For emphasis he tickled the tip of Chrisí cock with his tongue, provoking a strangled, "unguh" which he chose to take as consent. He grabbed for the hand cream that heíd stashed under the pillow ñ heíd been certain that one of them was going to get nailed tonight, and he just hated dry fucks ñ and slicked himself quickly before Chris could recover enough to actually say, "Gee, no, Toby. Thatís not what I meant when I made those crazy little noises." 

"I love you, baby, I do," Toby told him as he positioned himself and pushed inward, clamping one hand over Chrisí mouth just in case things got noisy. The hard body strained underneath him. "You own me, and now I own you. ës good, isnít it?" 

Chris sobbed, clutched the bedposts. He was sheened with sweat already. He wasnít going to stop Toby; he was too far gone himself. 

"Love you," Toby whispered again, stealing a kiss and thrusting deep. God, it was like heaven, being inside Chris; why didnít they do this more often? And his inner self replied without hesitation, Because you love being fucked by him. 

"TobyTobyToby," Chris moaned. 

"Iím here, baby, Iím here." Hips swinging, lungs pumping, every muscle straining towards release, and Chris rising up to meet him, eyes wild, like some big, fucking animal, some hard, predatory beast lost in the wilderness of sex. It was...oh, GOD! It was good, it was gonna happen, now...and... 

Toby pressed his face against Chrisí chest so he wouldnít howl. He barely made a sound as he emptied himself into Chris, and then sagged against him. 

The sound of Chrisí ragged breathing brought him back, and he realized that Chris was still there on the edge, waiting. So close. Toby inched downward ñ he felt like there were lead weights under his skin ñ and took Chrisí cock into his mouth. It didnít take long because Chris was so ready, but the feel of him, smell of him, taste of him was so...perfect, that Toby just kept on sucking and licking long after there was nothing left to drink down or lick clean, long after Chris softened in his mouth. 

Finally, "Toby?" Rough whisper. 

"Mmmm?" Tobias edged back up and settled beside Chris. Like pieces of a puzzle, they fit together perfectly. 

"Love you," he said, as he always did before their most perfect kisses. There was no prison where Chris was, where his kisses were there for the taking. 

*************** 

Ryan counted out the bills with no little reluctance. He hadn't planned on dishing out quite so much of the take, but Raines had insisted. 

"That's it, O'Reilly." Raines riffled the bills then folded them and stashed them in his pocket. "Pleasure doing business with you." 

"Yeah." Ryan scowled. "Pleasure." He watched Raines walk away whistling, then returned to his pod. 

Cyril stood at the door, waiting like a housewife, and with the same disapproving expression. "What are you doing, Ryan?" 

Ryan pushed past his brother and flopped down on the bottom bunk. "Leave me alone." 

Cyril either ignored the directive or didn't hear it. He sat on the edge of the bed and gave Ryan a quizzical look. "Why did you pay Cory?" 

"You know him?" 

"Yeah. He's nice. He gives me his Jell-O." 

Of course he did, Ryan mused. Raines could afford to be generous. In return for choreographing the previous night's scene with Schillinger, Raines had demanded seventy percent of the take and better meals. 

Ryan had been skeptical at first, but the bets had poured in. Everyone wanted a part of the action. The odds had been five to one that the Nazi would beat Raines into submission, and eleven to one that Raines would take the short trip to the infirmary. Raines had laughed when Ryan reported that bit of information. Even with the payoff to Raines, a nice sum of money had ended up in Ryan's pocket. And then a little more went into his sock, but Raines didn't know about that part. 

"Yeah, sure, Cyril." Ryan shut his eyes. "He's nice. Whatever." 

*************** 

"Ryan, look!" Cyril O'Reilly tugged at his brother's sleeve and pointed across the room. "It's Manda!" 

"Who?" Ryan squinted in the direction Cyril pointed. "Oh. Raines' girl." He shrugged, deciding she was of little importance. 

"Ryan," Cyril persisted. "I want to say hello. She's nice." He picked his way through the various inmates and visitors, leaving Ryan alone to deal with Aunt Brenda. 

"Cyril!" Amanda grinned at the blonde man's approach. "How are you?" She pulled him in for a quick, intimate hug, earning for him the envy of twenty other men, including Cory. 

Cyril blushed and fidgeted. "I'm good. You look real pretty today, Manda. I like red." 

She smoothed the short skirt of her dress and winked at him. "You think so? I like red, too." She spotted Cory's scowl and ended the chat. "Cyril, sweetie, I need to talk to Cory just now." Handing him a box of chocolates, she kissed his cheek. "I'll see you next time, okay?" 

Cyril nodded enthusiastically. "Okay. Thanks!" He wandered back to his brother, a goofy smile plastered on his face. 

"Hello?" Cory waved a hand in front of his girlfriend's face. "Remember me?" 

Amanda smiled sweetly. "He really is such a sweet boy, Cory. You could be a little nicer to him." 

"You've been nice enough for both of us." Cory's frown deepened. "How much longer, doll? I'm dying in here! 

Amanda sat and took his hand. "Well, that's the plan, isn't it?" She lowered her voice conspiratorially and leaned in. "Duncan's in place. Methos'll be here tomorrow. There's bound to be some action in the next week. We have to be careful not to arouse too much interest." 

"I think it might be a little too late for that." 

*************** 

"You're the new doc, huh?" 

Methos had a snide remark at the ready, but he bit it back when he spotted the speaker. "Yeah. Dr. Adams. You must be Augustus Hill. They told me you help out down here." He held out a hand, only to have it skeptically studied and ultimately rejected. "Right. Well, let's get on with it, shall we?" 

Hill wheeled his chair to the other side of the table. "Where you from, man? That accent sure ain't New York." He pulled the sheet off the table, revealing the corpse of a middle-aged man. 

Methos grabbed a lab coat from the hook beside the door. He dredged up autopsy procedures from a two hundred-year-old memory and took up a scalpel. 

*************** 

"We need to talk." 

Cory barked a short laugh. "You're the second person to say that in the past three days, Mackie-boy." He followed MacLeod into the corridor outside the dress factory. As the heavy door swung shut, he continued, "So what's the plan?" 

MacLeod's eyes narrowed. "You're supposed to keep a low profile." 

"Oh, right. Okay." Sarcasm dripped from his tongue. "And just let that bastard rape me? I don't think so." Cory crossed his arms. "How much longer is this gonna take?" 

MacLeod sighed and leaned against the wall. "A few days. We can't have anyone getting suspicious." He watched the end of the hall carefully for interruptions. "We just got our guy into the morgue. Give it a couple days, then I'll let you know how it's going to go." 

"How what's going to go?" Cory's irritation grew. "You know, somebody could let me in on this little scheme. It's only my life we're discussing!" 

He found himself on the receiving end of a baton. The end pressed into his throat, making him gag. MacLeod's face darkened with rage. "Shut the fuck up!" he hissed, just as Robson passed with an interested look. 

Once the hall was clear, the baton fell. "You didnít have to be so rough!" Cory gasped, one hand massaging the tender skin. 

"I'll let you know what and when, Raines." The caution in MacLeod's voice was palpable. "Until then, lie low!" He walked off, leaving Cory gasping. 

*************** 

Duncan tried to follow his own advice. Oz was brutal, even for the CO's, and he didn't want to jeopardize the fragile operation he'd planned. If it had just been Cory's life on the line, and not Immortality, he doubted he'd be so concerned. Still, he told himself, Cory meant something to Amanda, and that was enough. 

He cursed himself lightly for falling for another of her trademark scams. She'd played him all too well. Not only was he helping to spring Cory from prison, he was masterminding the scheme. 

He slammed his locker and pulled his shirt over his shoulders; glad the shift was over. He could go back to the apartment and forget the day. The thought brought a smile to his face. Duncan began buttoning the shirt. 

"Hey!" 

The greeting aborted the smile. He glanced toward the door, his suspicion confirmed. Claire Howell entered the locker room, obviously coming off her shift, too. He barely concealed a cringe as she approached, oblivious to the "leave me alone" vibe he tried to project. Duncan focused his attention wholly on the buttons, praying for a miracle. 

The gods were deaf. She ignored the slight and came up behind him. He could feel her breath stirring the hair on his neck. The hot air raised goosebumps, and, for the first time, he wished he hadn't cut his hair. "Can I help you?" He didn't turn. 

"Actually," her hand snaked around his waist and tugged at the button on his pants, "I was thinking I could help you." 

Duncan stepped away from her, fighting the urge to gag. He'd never made a secret of the fact that he liked bold women, but Howell had a manner that made Attila the Hun seem subtle. "I don't think so." 

She was as persistent as she was direct. Her hand went straight to his crotch, and she squeezed. 

Duncan seized her arm and spun her around him, pinning her against the locker. "I'm not interested, Howell. You're not my type." 

Her eyes narrowed to slits, and rage simmered just below the surface. "Don't fuck with me, MacLeod." 

He released her and grabbed his bag. "Not if you were the last woman on earth." Shirt still half-open, he walked out of the locker room, fuming. 

*************** 

There was definitely something strange about Cory Raines. Tim was certain of it. Arrogance wasn't unusual in new inmates, but the bravery -- the bravado, he corrected himself -- now that was far from normal. 

The scene with Schillinger replayed itself in his mind. Not even Beecher at his craziest would have risked it. The entire Aryan Brotherhood was panting after Raines -- there were rumors about a price on his head. Vern Schillinger wasn't one to take humiliation lightly. 

It wasn't just the bluster that nagged at Tim's mind, though. There was something about Raines that just wasn't right. He couldn't seem to put a finger on it. But he would be keeping a close eye on the man. 

*************** 

"Okay, so now tell me if itís true that you bit someoneís dick in half, because thatís one Iím not buying without a little confirmation." 

Toby flushed a little...charmingly, Cory thought. "Just the head." 

"Oh God!" Cory blurted, midway between disgust and hilarity. "Now, that canít have been easy." 

"It was a little tough," Beecher agreed, and they both burst into gales of laughter, during which Cory took the opportunity to get his hand on Beecherís knee. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Keller tense. 

"Christ, Toby, youíre good for me," Cory said, leaning back in his chair. "This place is grim enough, but I was missing some good conversation." Toby required some work, a deft hand. Not that he wouldn't fuck anyone if it served his purposes, but fitting into those purposes, that was the hard part. Heíd arrived just a bit too late for the Tobias Beecher Slutfest, so Cory had his work cut out for him. 

He looked up and saw Keller just staring and wondered why Toby couldnít be that easy, because Keller would be easy. And it would be so hot...yeah, Cory was remembering his taste for the rough stuff, and Keller looked like the genuine thing. He turned back to Beecher and found that the other manís eyes had grown suddenly cold. 

And just as suddenly, the wheels began to turn. 

*************** 

McManus wasn't the only man watching Raines closely. Chris Keller had his own reason for being suspicious of the bank robber. Chris sat on top of one of the washers in the laundry room, his attention completely absorbed by the scene he was witnessing in the quad. 

Raines and Beecher sat side by side on the stairs in heated conversation. Their heads were close together -- too close -- and they laughed too often and too loudly. Raines casually dropped a hand on Beecher's knee. 

Chris didn't notice his fists were clenched until he felt a rough fingernail pierce the skin of his palm. He deliberately loosened his grip, never looking away. 

*************** 

Life just got more and more interesting with Cory around, Ryan decided. Half the cons in the place were watching him flirt with Beecher, watching Keller watch them, watching McManus watch all of them. There was some money to be made here and maybe a chance to recoup some of what heíd been forced to pay out to Raines on that sweet little Schillinger deal. The memory of all that money leaving the safety of his stash still rankled, though he was trying to be philosophical about it. If Schillinger ever found out that he and Raines had planned the show, heíd probably be one of the walking dead, too. Just like Cory, Ryan thought with a little smile. Coryís days here were numbered, and there was money to be made on that, too. 

*************** 

"I suppose Iíve put this off long enough," Cory said to the room in general. "I have no clean clothes left." He turned to Keller who was still perched on one of the washers. "How do these things work?" 

"Soap, water, clothes...agitation." 

"Thatís enlightening." 

"Same as at home, only you donít need a quarter." Keller studied him. "What? Youíve never used a washing machine?" 

Cory smiled and made a helpless gesture. 

"Fuck." Keller slid off the washer and came over to where Raines was standing. "Sort ëem first, or youíre gonna have all gray stuff. By color," he said with a note of exasperation. "What?" 

"Youíre so capable," Cory told him with just the tiniest note of irony. Keller just stared at him. "Okay, okay. Sort by color, and then what?" 

"Hot water for whites, warm for everything else, and hope that nothing is gonna shrink." 

"You speak from experience?" Cory asked, moving in a little closer. He wet his lips and reached out. This was the moment of truth. "Is that why this shirt is so completely alluring now? Shrinkage?" he asked, brushing his fingertip across the material just where Kellerís left nipple peaked the material. A sharp, indrawn hiss was the first response, then a hand clamped his wrist. He looked up into stormy blue eyes. 

"Donít." 

"No?" Cory breathed. Up close, he could feel the heat pouring off Keller as if the man was some sort of blast furnace. He radiated it the way he radiated sexuality. "Doesnít it feel good?" He ran his palm across Kellerís chest. 

"Raines..." 

Cory always liked the moment when a strong man weakened. "Hmmm?" 

There was no reply but the harsh, ragged sound of Kellerís breathing. Raines moved in, slipped a hand around Chrisí neck, and raised his mouth for a kiss. The touch was slow in coming, but it did come, and just as their lips met, he whispered, "I want you to fuck me," though it was swallowed up as Kellerís mouth ground against his, and he was shoved hard up against the bank of dryers. He opened one eye and saw, just in the doorway, Tobias Beecher watching with a look of such raw pain that Cory faltered. 

Keller mustíve sensed something very wrong because he turned quickly, and when he saw Tobias he moaned. "Toby!" 

Beecher was gone in a moment, and Keller turned back to Cory and snarled, "Fuck yourself," before he went after his lover. 

Cory stood there for a while, not moving. Getting dead was going to feel a whole lot better after this. 

*************** 

"Hey." As soon as he said it, Sean Murphy wished he hadn't. The greeting was entirely too casual. He cut the grimace short, though, when it was returned. 

"Hi, Murphy." 

Sean swallowed hard, hoping to quell the butterflies in his stomach. He cursed himself for behaving like a teenage girl and managed to smile. "Call me Sean." He held out a hand, hoping it wouldnít shake. 

MacLeod clasped it firmly. His hand was warm, dry...strangely callused. "First-name basis, already?" He smiled, and it nearly made Sean faint. Things this perfect didnít just walk into Oz. "Then I'm Duncan." He paused a minute, then shrugged. "Or Mac. Some of my friends call me Mac." 

Sean realized he still held the other man's hand. He released his grip and nodded. "Mac, then, since I hope we can be friends." 

"Join me?" Duncan waved at the empty chair across from him, and Sean slid into it. 

There had to be words, Sean thought. Somewhere. Make conversation, you moron! He cleared his throat to speak, but was instantly distracted as Duncan picked up a paring knife and an apple from the table. He made a quick slice and began to peel the apple. Sean watched, rapt, as the red peel drifted to the table in a long spiral. It was strangely erotic, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. 

Fortunately, Duncan spoke, snapping him out of his trance. "How long have you worked here?" 

Grateful for the safe topic, Sean answered, "Couple years. I was at Attica with McManus before. It has its moments, but it pays the bills." He tried to be nonchalant, to not seem overly eager. 

The peel fell to the table, the apple completely skinned. Duncan's knife cut the apple into quarters. He offered one to Sean. Sean took it, with mumbled thanks. Duncan looked thoughtful as he chewed a bite. He swallowed then met Sean's gaze directly after a quick glance around the lounge. Sean felt his knees wobble as he met those cognac-colored eyes and was glad he was sitting. 

"You don't strike me as the shy type, Sean." 

"What?" he choked. 

Duncan passed over another apple section, not noticing that Sean still held the first one. "You seem a little uncomfortable. Is there anything you want to talk about?" 

You can give me a hint -- any hint! -- whether I stand a chance! Sean shook his head. "No. I'm fine." He forced himself to bite the apple and to chew, trying to concentrate on the fruit. 

Duncan's smile widened. He cocked his head. "Why don't we get dinner tonight? I hear there's a passably decent Romanian restaurant in town. You game?" 

Murphy tried to pretend to think about it, but blurted out "Sure!" way too fast, then kicked himself. Damn! So much for acting cool. 

"Great!" Duncan stood up, sliding his chair out behind him. He dropped the paring knife in the sink and circled the table until he was directly behind Sean. He leaned down, and Sean could feel his body heat. He leaned closer, and his breath tickled Sean's ear, making his heart pound. Just then the door flew open. Sean leaned forward, as Duncan straightened up. Still, Claire Howell got an eyeful. And she was pissed. 

Her eyes narrowed, becoming beady. She glared at both men, but with special venom at Duncan. "I guess we know what your type is now, huh?" she hissed. "Just what we need around here: another cocksucker." 

Duncan skirted her, disdain clear in his body language, and left the room, leaving Murphy alone with Howell. He knew she'd turn on him if he stayed, so he vacated the room immediately, the adrenaline rush fueled by Duncan's nearness aiding him in his flight. 

*************** 

If all human life is sacred, like the pro-lifers say, are we, in effect, our brothers' keepers? Is it our duty to protect all life? Even the lowlife? 

*************** 

It was inevitable. Ryan knew the shit would hit the fan from the first moment he and Claire started fucking. Howell didn't have it in her to just be a fuck-buddy. She expected more. And now he knew what that more was. His stomach churned as his mind spun, looking for a way to refuse her and still get laid. None was coming to mind. 

"Hello? O'Reily, you still in there?" She rapped her knuckles against his forehead. 

He grabbed her arm and shoved it away. "Don't do that. I'm thinking." 

She laughed, and it was a bitter, hollow sound. "Thinking, huh? Last I heard, you had to have a brain to think. It's not a question, pal. You'll do it." She pulled up her pants as she spoke. 

He took a minute to weigh his options. He could do as she asked. He'd probably get caught, and that would be bad. His sentence was long enough, thank you very much. He could agree to do the deed, then conveniently forget, but he knew Howell would call him on it. He could turn her in, tell McManus -- no, better to tell Glynn. But that was risky. She held his balls in a fist of steel, and he was afraid she'd crush them. No, ratting her out wasn't an option. 

And it came to him. The threat of exposure would probably be enough. It occurred to him that they shared the power in their sleazy little relationship. She was a hack, but he could get her fired. It would mean no more blowjobs, but considering her lack of talent in that area, he didn't really see it as a sacrifice. 

"No." 

Clearly, Howell had never expected him to refuse. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the shock on her face. "What did you say?" Her baton was out and pressed against his throat in an instant. "I thought I heard you say no, but I must have been imagining things." He shook his head, the pressure from the club preventing speech. 

"You'll do it, O'Reily, or I'll see to it that you spend the rest of your life in solitary." 

He summoned all his strength and courage and pushed her away. "Try it. I'm sure McManus would love to hear about all this." He gestured down to his pants, which were pooled on the floor around his ankles. "And I bet Glynn will be interested, too." She sputtered, ready to explode, but he didn't give her the opportunity. "I'm not gonna do your little favor. Let it go, and I won't share our secret with anybody. Find somebody else, Claire." 

Claire Howell was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. She nodded, her eyes still angry. "All right, O'Reily. Forget I asked." Ryan tensed as she grabbed his balls. "Forget it entirely, get it?" He nodded. With a small squeeze, she released him. 

*************** 

He'd been warned his very first day. There were more attacks in the gym than in any other single room in Oz. Now, on his first shift in the gym, he haunted the edges of the room, carefully watching the inmates at their workouts. He kept a steely eye on each in his turn, trying to calculate the odds of an attack. 

The Aryans in the gym outnumbered everyone else, at least three to one. The realization made him a little uncomfortable. He almost felt their gazes on him. It struck him as odd, but he didnít give it much thought, preferring to keep his attention on their movement. 

It was a case of not seeing the forest for the trees. While he watched the individuals, he neglected to notice that the group was edging closer to him, an inch at a time. When the attack came, he was caught by surprise. Duncan deflected the blow, far too experienced a fighter to go down that easily, but it was close. He managed to grab the arm of the would-be assassin. James Robson's face paled as the bones in his wrist ground together. 

The shank clattered to the ground, only to come up again in the fist of Vern Schillinger. Without hesitation, Duncan shoved Robson away and faced him, baton in hand. 

"Put it down." He put as much warning in his voice as possible, not truly wanting to hurt the inmate, if it was avoidable. Schillinger responded with a low chuckle and slashed in the general vicinity of Duncan's appendix. 

It was easily avoided. Duncan allowed himself a second to gloat, then realized the other Aryans were circling, waiting like the vultures they were. No more games. 

He lunged at Schillinger, catching him hard at waist-level and dumping him to the ground. Schillinger managed to get in one good cut, tearing through the uniform shirt and shallowly into the skin. Now under serious time-constraints and needing to conceal the healing, MacLeod pressed his baton against the Aryan's throat, just hard enough to make him gasp, then grabbed the hand clutching the homemade blade and shook it violently. The shank flew out of his hand and landed at the feet of Tim McManus, who had just entered the gym. 

"Is there a problem here, MacLeod?" Behind his professional demeanor, McManus looked vaguely amused. 

"No. No problem." Duncan stood and pulled Schillinger up, exchanging a smile for a glare. The rest of the Aryans dispersed into the gathering crowd. 

McManus' eye was drawn to the torn fabric. "You're gonna need a new shirt." 

Duncan clapped a hand over the slice, hoping to cover the now-healed cut. He was grateful for the dark uniform. It would hide the blood better. "Yeah, I guess I do." 

"I'll take care of this. Go on." McManus waved Duncan out, much to his relief. 

Duncan left with Schillinger's eyes burning into his shoulders. He knew it wasn't over. 

*************** 

Later that day, Tim sat at his desk, studying the shank. It had been a toothbrush in its previous incarnation, until someone painstakingly honed the handle, fashioning it into a crude knife. The blue plastic sat on a paper towel in the middle of the desk, dried blood flaking on the blade. 

It was this last bit that concerned Tim most. Someone took a pretty good slice from that shank, and he didn't know who. 

The Aryans had been checked for wounds and none were found. He'd asked MacLeod, and had even looked at the man's side himself, and there were no cuts. It was a mystery, and he didn't particularly like mysteries. 

He pushed the chair back from the desk, intending to double check with MacLeod, when a brown ponytail caught his attention. He was across the room and at the door in an instant. "Howell!" he bellowed. She glanced up at his from her perch beside the stairs. With a tight smile, she obeyed his summons. 

Tim slammed the door behind her. He pointed at the empty chair in front of his desk. She sat, a caricature of a lady, legs crossed primly. Tim leaned on his desk. 

"What the hell are you doing in Em City?" The pitch of his voice was low, in deference to the thin walls, but there was a threat in it. 

"Patterson's out sick. I'm covering." She tilted her head, and a tiny bit of smugness crept into her smile. "What's the matter, Timmy? Afraid I'll contaminate the air? It's just one shift, then I'm back to the dungeon." 

Tim pondered. He could tolerate Howell for the rest of the shift, or run one CO short. There really was no choice. "Stay out of trouble. You make a scene, I'll have you fired. Are we clear?" He pointed to the door; sure she'd ignore the command. 

"Crystal." She stood and headed for the door, pausing with her hand on the frame. "Hey, Tim. I heard the new guy got into it with Schillinger and his buddies. Everybody okay?" 

Curious at her uncharacteristic concern, Tim shrugged. "Yeah. MacLeod took a slice to the shirt, but he's fine. Why?" 

'No reason." She was out the door, shutting it gently behind her. 

Irritated, Tim sat back down at his desk, staring at the shank, returning his attention to the mystery. 

Because he did, he missed the exchange between Howell and Schillinger on the stairs. Angry words were passed, then a small roll of bills. Schillinger pocketed the roll, walking away with a self-satisfied look of his own. Howell's smug smile disappeared with her money. 

*************** 

"It was close, Mac." Methos shook his head, frowning. "Too close. We need this over. And soon, before it gets any worse." He reached across the table and helped himself to a piece of pizza. 

"I couldn't agree more." MacLeod pushed the box and the half-eaten pie toward his friend. "Take it. I'm sick of take-out food." 

As he chewed, Methos considered the situation. In the two weeks since Mac had started working at the prison, he'd become more and more withdrawn. Amanda had even given up her semi-regular visits to his bed, claiming he was "an old poop." The only bit of amusement was the growing flirtation with Sean Murphy. 

Murphy was an interesting development. He'd had dinner with Mac twice in four days. Methos was sure he was feeling Mac out -- trying to decide whether the Highlander was the type that slept on both sides of the sheets. He almost felt sorry for the man. Duncan was inscrutable. 

Methos smothered a giggle with another bite of pizza. He hoped Murphy worked up enough courage to see it through. He loved how guilty Mac felt after sleeping with somebody else. Even his sessions with Amanda brought on a bad case of the "please forgive me's," and that made for some incredible sex. Please, Murphy! Grow some balls! And soon. 

He knew there was more serious business at hand, and he dragged his thoughts out of the gutter. There were big questions to be answered. Eyeing Mac carefully across the table, he searched for an opening. None came, but a question still sat in his head, begging to be asked. Finally, after that piece of pizza and another, he just asked it. 

"What are we going to do about Keller?" 

MacLeod's heavy sigh was answer enough, but Methos pressed the issue. "Mac? Did you talk to McCormick?" 

"Yes." 

Methos had been relieved when Mac took his advice. Matthew McCormick was an FBI agent, attached to a special unit investigating serial killers, and he was Immortal. Methos had hoped McCormick would have information that would make the decision easier. "And?" he prompted. 

"Nothing conclusive." MacLeod's face was blank; a mask. "He's been under investigation for a while now. The FBI can tie all three victims to Keller, but they can't prove he killed them." 

"Well," Methos laughed. "That was helpful. Glad I suggested we ask him." He stood up, deliberately stretching all his muscles. He walked around behind MacLeod and leaned over him, his stomach nearly laid across the Highlander's back. "What do you say we forget all this tonight?" He placed one hand on each side of Mac on the table and whispered into his hair. "I can think of a better way to spend the evening." 

It brought the first smile he'd seen all night. "So can I, but we need to settle this." 

Methos moved, but it was closer, rather than farther away. He rested his chin on Mac's shoulder, nuzzling his ear. Mac laughed a little and shivered. "C'mon, old man. Let's think this through, then we'll see what happens." 

*************** 

"There's a minor complication." 

"Now why does that not surprise me?" Sister Peter-Marie sighed heavily and leaned her head back against the top of the chair, balancing the phone between her ear and her shoulder. "Promise me something, Joe." 

She heard him chuckle over the line. "Anything for you." 

"When this is all over, call me with some *good* news." 

Joe's chuckle became a full-on laugh. "Sister, when this is all over, I'll buy you dinner." 

"I'm gonna hold you to that." She grinned, in spite of herself. She'd been angry with the Watchers for a very long time, but it was impossible to hold that against Joe Dawson. He'd charmed her into cooperating, and could probably charm her into just about anything else he wanted. 

She slammed the brakes on that thought, recalling all to clearly how much trouble those kinds of feelings caused. 

"You do that." Joe paused, and Pete took the moment to compose herself. When he continued, his words were like a punch in the stomach. "There's a latent Immortal in Oz. A man named Keller." 

*************** 

"Yo, Toby! Shaddup!" Chris hissed at his podmate, a couple hours after lights-out. "You want the hacks to hear you? 

Toby's moaning continued, as did the creaking of the bedsprings. Chris was reminded of why they usually kept their sexual aerobics on the lower bunk. He punched the mattress overhead, hoping to wake Toby enough to quiet him. 

It didn't work. In fact, the moaning rose in volume and fell in pitch. Suspicion building, Chris slid out of his bed and stood. If Toby was doing what he thought, he'd definitely have to stop it. There were better ways to bank that fire. 

He had hoped for some makeup sex after the fight they'd had over Raines. It had taken all his skills in persuasion to convince Toby it had been all Raines' fault, that Chris had been trying to push him away when Toby walked in. Toby had forgiven, but he hadn't been in the mood for any affection. 

One glance at Toby's bunk confirmed his suspicions. Toby lay half-covered, his hand moving rhythmically under the blanket, his face shiny with sweat. Feeling a little devilish, Chris covered Toby's hand with his own. Toby arched up into his touch. Encouraged, Chris redoubled his efforts, waiting for Toby to wake up and actively participate. 

He felt his pulse quicken and his breath grow ragged with desire. Enough foreplay. He leaned down to Toby's cheek and whispered, "Hey, Tobe? Wake up." He blew a puff of air into Toby's ear. "Wake up. It's more fun if you're awake." 

Toby mumbled something incoherent. Aware of his growing need, Chris lapped at the lobe. The result was still more muttering, but this time one word was crystal clear. 

The effect was like a combination of cold shower and slap in the face. Angry, Chris bit down hard. 

"Ow! Fuck!" Toby woke instantly and sat up, a hand to his ear. "What the fuck was that for?" 

"Have a nice dream?" Chris lowered his voice into 'don't fuck with me' range. 

Still rubbing his ear, Toby shot him a quizzical look. "I don't remember." 

"Well," Chris stepped away from the beds, crossing his arms protectively over his chest, "let me refresh your memory." He dredged up his best sneer. "The name 'Cory' ring any bells?" 

"Raines?" Toby stopped massaging his ear. "What about him?" 

Chris knew he was being irrational. He knew he had as bad a case of Raines-on-the-brain as Toby. He knew there was little a man could do to control his dreams. Still, a jealous rage bubbled in his stomach. He fixed Toby with a cold glare. "You were dreaming about him." 

Toby's laugh was genuine. It was also loud -- loud enough to draw Officer Murphy's attention. The hack stared pointedly at the pod. Chris waved in response, falsely cheerful. 

"Go to bed, Keller!" Murphy shouted. Obedient, Chris returned to his bunk, fully intending to let his jealousy simmer the rest of the night. 

"Chris?" 

"I don't wanna hear it, Toby. Good night." Chris lay on top of the blanket, tense and angry, a million vengeful thoughts skittering through his mind. 

"It doesn't mean anything." 

"You think I don't know that?" 

Toby's voice took on a long-suffering tone. There was no need for him to sigh, his voice conveyed it. "It was just a dream, and I don't even remember it, Chris. Gimme a break here." 

"It wasn't just a dream," Chris spat, his resolve dissolving. "You were jerking off." 

"And? You do it, too." The springs creaked again as Toby leaned down to look at Chris. "It doesn't mean anything." 

"Yeah?" The anger ebbed, but Chris wasn't willing to let Toby off that easily. 

"Yeah." Toby's grin was lewd. "C'mon, baby. Let me make it up to you." 

"Make it up to me, huh?" The rage weakened as something else -- something lower -- hardened. "Won't be easy." 

Toby slid down off the top bunk. With a quick check for CO's, he joined Chris on the lower bunk, stretching out beside him. "Actually," his hand slid down Chris's chest, "I prefer it hard." 

Summoning a last bit of thought, Chris took his hand. "I mean it, Tobe. I don't like that guy. Watch your back." 

"Watch it for me." Toby snuggled closer, his tongue tracing Chris's neck from ear to shoulder. "He's harmless." 

"Like hell, he is." That last observation depleted the thought reserves. Chris abandoned all thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Nothing is certain but death and taxes. Ben Franklin said that. The only guarantees you get when you come into this world are that you'll have to leave it someday, and someone will want to take your money before you do. 

My Uncle Bilbo never paid his taxes. Not once, and he lived to be 83. But death still got him in the end. See, Ben was wrong. You can cheat on your taxes, but evading Death? That's a bitch. That skinny guy with the cloak and the scythe is much more persistent than the IRS. And his audits are hell. 

*************** 

"Are we clear?" 

Cory sighed heavily. He'd always thought MacLeod was way too naÔve. Now he was certain of it. "Jesus, Mac! It's not like he's Polly-fucking-anna. He's a killer!" 

"No. And that's final." MacLeod stalked away, leaving Cory fuming. 

Cory stormed out of the computer room, wanting badly to slam the door. He resisted the urge, but just barely. He began walking quickly around the perimeter of the quad, his feet slapping the pavement in time to his racing thoughts. 

The plan. Mac always had to have a Plan. He had to have every minute plotted out on some mental flowchart. What ever happened to winging it? Flying by the seat of your pants? Making it up as you went along? 

Cory knew the primary goal -- his death and the subsequent escape from Oz. Secondary goal was taking Keller out with him. If he could accomplish both, and still manage to fuck with Vern, what was the harm? Like he'd told MacLeod, the guy was a killer. 

He should have known Mackie-boy wouldn't go for it. The big, dumb oaf was always against involving civilians and mortals. What a white hat! Sometimes it made Cory want to puke, or at least slap that self-righteous look off the Highlander's face. 

"Hi, Cory!" 

Cory winced when he realized he had company, and winced again when he realized who. From day one, Busmalis had followed him around, an adoring look under that stupid hat. "This really isn't a good time, Busmalis." 

"Oh! I'm sorry!" The old man looked hurt, and Cory felt a twinge of guilt. He really did mean well, and it never hurt to have fans. Cory forced a smile he didn't feel and walked with Busmalis. 

*************** 

"Hey, doc!" 

Methos looked up from his notes, bleary-eyed. Hill deftly wheeled into the morgue. "Good morning, Augustus. How are you today?" He closed the file and tossed it onto a counter, sliding the table back into the recesses of the cooler. There wasn't enough room for a proper desk. 

Hill shrugged and picked up a stack of manila folders from the hanging file by the door. He made his way between the tools and tables to the filing cabinet. He sorted as he spoke. "I didn't sleep for shit. You?" 

Methos couldn't hide a smile as flashes from his own sleepless night played in his head. "Not bad." 

Hill studied him, then grinned back at him. "You got laid, didn't you?" He didn't wait for an answer, but went on. "I'm glad one of us did." 

Methos knew he'd allowed Hill to become entirely too familiar. Still, there was something about working with the dead that drew the living into tighter circles. "How goes it in the Wonderful Land of Oz?" With a stretch, he followed Hill to the administrative corner of the room. 

Hill let the folders drop into his lap. "There's gonna be some action. The Aryans are quiet, and that's not a good thing." 

Methos nodded sagely. He figured all things were coming together. It was just a matter of time before Raines managed to piss off every single inmate, guaranteeing one of them would show him the way out of the land of the living. The attack on Mac further confirmed his belief. There was trouble coming. He could see it, as subtle as a freight train. 

"Well," he smiled at Hill, "you watch yourself. I don't want to have to find another assistant, just when I've gotten you used to me." 

Hill smiled, even relaxing a bit. "So who're we cutting today?" 

*************** 

Just getting through life takes some effort. Some folks muscle their way through it, relying on brute force to get the job done. Some rely on their emotions and some on their intellect. A few lucky souls use all three and seem to glide through life like they're on skates. Most of us, though, seem to stumble along, making decisions on impulse, afraid to follow through, praying just to get through another day in one piece. 

*************** 

Mac must've risen well before dawn to be here this early, Sean thought. He was already well into his routine; that much was clear from the sheen of sweat on his tanned skin and the look of absolute focus and clarity on his features. Jesus, he was a handsome bastard. And smart, too. Sean had learned that early on and wondered yet again why someone with so much going for him was stuck in a job like this. Wasn't like he was raised in the community like Murphy and McManus, whose families had made the penal system their lives. Mac was the odd fish, the unknown quantity, and he intrigued Sean as much as he attracted him. 

Whatever it was Mac was doing was beautiful. In this place, which was so often about who was the biggest, strongest son-of-a-bitch, you didn't often see this sort of fluid grace. You didn't often see control like this and discipline. It was the sort of abstract thought that made Sean feel a little hopeful. People could take control of their lives, of their minds and bodies. And that meant that his job here might not be wholly wasted. Perhaps he could teach this to just one person and make the world a little better. 

Right then, he needed to take control of his own life and body. Trying not to disturb Mac, he made his way to the weight area and began his own early morning routine. He was adjusting the weights for bench presses when he became aware of Mac again, this time close by. "Did I disturb you?" 

"Not at all. I was just finishing my katas. You need someone to spot you?" 

"That'd be great, thanks." He added another weight to each side of the barbell. "I've never seen you here this early," he said as he lay down on the bench and reached up. Mac stood above him, face impassive. But there was something in his eyes which arrested Sean for just a few moments. 

"I needed to get out of my place for a while," Mac said quietly. 

"Yeah, I know how that is," Murphy agreed. He lifted the barbell. Mac's long hands hovered, ready to help. 

Sean did his first reps, and when he finished, Mac told him he was arching his back too much. "You'll hurt yourself doing that." 

"I know better." 

"Easy to get sloppy if there's no one around to point these things out to you. You should work out with someone." 

"Easier said than done." 

"Finish your set; let's see you keep that back in proper position." He watched as Sean began his next reps. "That's better, yeah, that's good." Sean felt idiotically pleased at the approval. He sat up. 

"You should come in early more often." 

Mac shrugged. "Depends." 

"On what?" 

"Oh, this and that. What's next?" 

"Next you tell me what you're doing, those katas, you called them?" 

Mac smiled radiantly. "It's no single discipline; just a routine put together from things I've learned. Keeps me limber and focused." 

"We could all use more focus." 

"Want to learn some?" 

"Think I can?" 

Again the smile. In the light of that anyone would melt. "Of course." 

"Good. Teach me," Sean said and stood up. He found himself standing very close to Mac. He found himself reaching out. He found himself kissing Mac and ñ miracle of miracles ñ he found himself being kissed back. The Scot's big hands curved around his ass and pulled him close. Mac was growling softly as they kissed. Sean felt his knees go rubbery. 

Then Mac pulled away. " We shouldn't be doing this," he breathed, but the dazed look in his eyes told Sean that they were halfway to horizontal already, and he wasn't about to let go yet. "Fuck that," he said and pulled Mac back into a kiss. 

They didn't even make it back to the weight bench but went down in a heap on the floor, scrambling to lay bare enough flesh to do the deed. Sean was already half hard, Mac wholly so, and in the end they managed only a fast, mutual hand job. They broke apart, panting. "Jesus," Murphy breathed. 

"I guess we both got our exercise," Mac observed dryly, sending Sean into a fit of wheezing laughter. But once he recovered he said, very seriously, "Would you consider teaching your routine to the inmates who are interested?" 

Mac sat up and leaned on one elbow. "You think there would be anyone interested? It requires a lot of discipline." 

"Which is just what some of them need." 

"Like who?" 

"It'd be good for the O'Reilys," Sean told him, and Mac grinned. 

"Agreed," he said. 

"Beecher. Keller probably." 

Mac got up and offered a hand up to Sean. "What do you think of him?" he asked. 

"Who? Keller?" 

Mac nodded. 

"Honestly? I think he's a very dangerous man." 

"Think he's really a serial killer? The FBI seems to think so." 

"How do you know about that?" 

"People talk." 

"Well they shouldn't. But since you ask, no, I don't. I don't see that at all." 

"Why not?" 

Sean shrugged. "I've been a hack for a long time, and I've known a few of them. There's a feel about them I don't get from him." 

"Think you're just projecting?" Mac asked as he straightened his clothing. 

"I could be. Then again, I could be right. Why so curious about Keller?" 

"Odd couple," Mac said, meaning Beecher and Keller. "Can't help but be curious." 

"Tobias Beecher wouldn't be the first rich kid to fall for a bad boy. Anyway, prison romances are a dime a dozen." The minute he said it he wanted to bite his tongue. But Mac didn't take offense; he just laughed again. 

"Is that what this was worth?" 

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Sean protested. "Jeez, I'm sorry." 

Mac clapped him on the back. "No offense taken, Sean. But next time we do it in a bed, okay?" He stole a quick kiss and headed off for the locker room, leaving Sean to wonder what the hell he'd just gotten himself into. 

*************** 

Pete didn't even like thinking about what this new development meant. She had little enough affection for immortals as it was; to discover that Keller was one of them, or would be after a first death, made her wonder if she'd been mistaken all along about the nature of God. Keller as Immortal? This was like a cosmic joy buzzer or whoopee cushion. And they wanted to get him out of Oz. If that wasn't one of the worst ideas she'd ever heard it was damn close. 

And yet... Time and a boot up the backside from several quarters (including Cyril's remarkably clear-sighted affirmation that God is the one to choose how and when we can best serve His purposes) had helped her sort out just how much of the responsibility she needed to accept for her own crisis of faith. Once she'd managed to straighten all that out in her own mind, she began to see Chris Keller in a less damning light. 

After hanging up with Joe Dawson, she pulled out all her notes on Chris, the whole record of their interaction. And while much of it left her cringing with embarrassment over her lack of professionalism, the basic information contained within the file made for interesting reading. Stripped of his attempts to mislead and distract, of her highly subjective commentary, one thing stood out in stark relief: Chris Keller was a man who, all appearances aside, had never, ever felt comfortable inside his own skin. He was a loner, not by nature but because he'd been taught he wasn't fit for human companionship. Ruined early and taught to divorce himself from his feelings, he was a wholly disconnected man. This new future of his could not be anything but another burden heaped on an already almost unbearable load. 

In the fading light in her office, Pete read over her transcription of his most damning confession, recalling in her mind the fearful flatness of his voice and of his eyes as he told her that he was "bad as they come." And for the first time she felt what he could not allow himself to feel, and she wept for him. 

*************** 

"So, Timmy..." 

Tim rolled his eyes as Howell strolled up looking smug. "What's wrong now, Howell?" 

"Hey, I'm just trying to do you a favor here. I'd have thought you'd be grateful to hear about something that might have repercussions..." She let the thought trail off, but her sly eyes never left Tim's face. 

"Don't tell me, someone else has harassed you, right? And you're gonna sue?" 

"Not me." 

"One of the prisoners, then?" 

"Are we a little out of sorts today, Timmy?" 

"Just a little cynical about repercussions. Why don't you come back after I've had my coffee and stick pins then? Or better yet, why don't you air the dirty laundry at the staff meeting?" 

"You think the others would like to know that I saw Murphy and MacLeod doing the nasty on the gym floor?" 

It was on the tip of his tongue to call her a fucking liar, but given the circumstances of their relationship, Tim decided it might not be politic. "And when did this allegedly take place?" 

"This morning. Before the shift started. Just thought you might like to know what's going on. You know, in case you wanted to enforce a rule or something." Then she smacked herself on the forehead with the heel of her hand. "Well, duh, Claire! Timmy enforce rules?" And she walked away laughing. 

He was having a hard time ignoring the twist in his gut as he headed up to his office. It was a matter of policy, of security. He kept telling himself that to try to forget how much it hurt, and to try not to think about why. 

He managed to time his visit to the coffee machine to coincide with Sean's break. "So..." he said as he whitened his coffee. 

"So?" 

"So I hear you and Duncan MacLeod are working out together now." Sean went crimson, which was all the confirmation Tim needed. "For Chrissake, Sean!" 

"It's not your business." 

"And why should the inmates follow the 'no fucking rule' if the C.O.'s don't?" 

"No one saw us." 

"Oh, someone saw you," Tim assured him. 

"Who?" 

"Howell." 

The look Sean gave him was eloquent. "It was before the day shift, Tim. No inmates saw us, and it won't happen again. Satisfied?" He got up, dumped his cup in the trash and walked out of the break room, back rigid with anger. 

He didn't fare much better with MacLeod. 

"MacLeod, you and Sean Murphy were seen engaging in some unprofessional behavior this morning." 

"Won't happen again," MacLeod assured him. "Sorry." 

"We have rules here, MacLeod, which apply to everyone, not just the inmates." 

"It won't happen again," MacLeod repeated, a little more sharply. His tone annoyed Tim. 

"That's right, it won't. We won't be needing your services any longer." 

MacLeod was stunned. "You're firing me over this?" 

"That's the idea." 

MacLeod's jaw muscles twitched and his eyes narrowed. There was something about the expression in them which reminded Tim of some of the more cold-blooded killers he'd ever met, and he felt a real twinge of discomfort. "Fine," MacLeod said. "Effective immediately?" 

"Immediately," Tim rasped. His mouth and throat had gone dry. 

MacLeod turned and walked out of the office, and Tim sagged down into his chair, feeling drained. Less than ten minutes later Sean stormed into the office. 

"What is your problem?" Murphy demanded. 

"Sean..." 

"What is your fucking problem?" 

"Don't fucking swear at me! And lower your voice." 

"You fired Mac over this? Are you insane?" 

Tim bristled. "I didn't like his attitude; I never did." 

"He's a damn good C.O. We need men like him," Murphy insisted, and for some reason his attempt at sweet reason made Tim even angrier. 

"Oh really? For what, do we need him? Slap and tickle in the gym after hours?" The minute it was out, he regretted it. 

Sean got that mulish look, and his lips thinned dangerously. "Maybe so. Maybe I'm sick of living like a monk," Murphy said quietly. "Is that the problem, Tim? Are you jealous?" 

"Fuck you!" Tim shouted, attracting a lot of attention. 

"Not a chance. Not now. You fired him, fire me. If he deserves it, so do I." 

"Sean..." 

"Fire me, or I'll quit." 

"Don't." It came out as a whisper, and whether Murphy didn't hear it, or he simply didn't care, it didn't stop his headlong retreat from Tim's life. Tim watched him go, feeling as if something had been severed. 

*************** 

"Cory? Are you even listening to me?" Amanda waved her hand in front of Cory's face, trying to get his attention. 

He nodded. "Yeah, I am. I was just thinking." He turned his eyes back to her, loving the pout that flirted with her lips. It was a lie, of course. He wasn't listening to her at all. 

"About what?" He hand dropped to his knee. She dragged her fingertips up his thigh, barely scraping her nails against his jeans. "Me, I hope." 

He caught her hand before it got both of them in trouble. "I was remembering that bank job in -- what was it? Kansas? When you punched out that girl who smiled at me?" 

Amanda laughed. "I broke a nail, too." 

"Those were the days, huh? Running from town to town, taking what we wanted." He pulled her close enough to feel her breath on his cheek, hoping the observing hack would think they were lost in reminiscing. "Mackie-boy got fired." 

Amanda nodded. "I heard." She covered her words with a quick kiss. "But we still have Adam in the morgue. It's all still on." 

He sighed and followed the pseudo-kiss with a real one. "Thanks, doll." He winked at her. 

"That's it, Raines." Mineo brought his blackjack down hard on the table, causing Amanda to jump back, startled. "Send her home to her momma." He moved back toward the door, ready to escort Cory back to Em City. 

Cory squeezed Amanda's hand. "See you soon." 

They both stood, and she hugged him close. He felt something slide into the waistband of his jeans. More pictures, like she'd promised. He'd been using them as currency, a fact he hoped she never discovered. She pulled away and headed for the exit, pausing only to toss over her shoulder, "Say hello to Cyril for me." 

*************** 

Discovering that Mac was the hardest drinker he'd ever met went a long way towards soothing Sean's ire. Or perhaps it was the steady flow of whisky that took the edge off. Mac had declared a moratorium on the discussion of Tim's faults, so they reverted to talking about their own lives, and about three hours into their bender, Mac started telling some very interesting stories. On their way back to Sean's house, Mac was talking about the First World War in familiar terms, when the cab driver said, "You got some imagination, buddy." 

And nowhere was that more evident than in his sexual technique. Once the veneer of Scots' reserve came off, Mac proved to be one of the most astoundingly versatile lovers Sean had ever known. Not that he'd had that many, certainly not a lot of men, and even then they'd been limited to his youthful, rebellious days when everything that was right for his parents was wrong for him. But Mac sucked cock like a top class hooker, and he had no hesitation about doing anything with mouth, hands, cock, or ass. Mac was an education, and Sean was being offered a free scholarship. 

They were lying in bed, drifting on some good feelings, engaged in some mildly dirty talk in preparation for another round of good, honest fucking, when the doorbell rang. 

"Must be the boy with the lube," Mac said languidly, making Sean hiccup with laughter. "Make sure he brought the giant economy size and give him a good tip." 

Sean was still laughing when he opened the door to find Tim standing there. 

"Hey." 

"Hey, yourself. What're you doing here?" 

"Can I come in?" He looked so hopeful it was impossible to refuse. 

"Sure." Sean stepped to the side to let him in. 

"I wanted to talk to you about what happened today. Well...partly it was Leo; he reamed me out good for letting the two of you get away, but I know he's right. What I said ...what I did... Sean, I'm sorry, okay? I brought a peace offering, and I wish you'd come back." He handed a package to Murphy, who opened it and pulled out a bottle of Irish whisky. "Connemara," Tim told him. "I thought..." He looked past Sean, and his thought, whatever it was, trailed off into silence. Sean turned to find Mac standing in the doorway, clad only in his shorts. Thank God for that much. 

"MacLeod." 

"McManus." 

Tim cleared his throat. "Well this saves me a call. I owe you an apology, so...I'm sorry. And I hope you'll come back to work at Oz." 

"Sure." 

"You will?" 

"Sure," Mac repeated. "Excuse me." He went off to use the bathroom, leaving Sean and Tim in the middle of a very awkward moment. 

"Well, you're...uh, busy, so I'll just..." 

"Yeah," Sean agreed, aware that he was perilously close to babbling. "I'll see you tomorrow, then." 

"Tomorrow, yeah," Tim echoed. 

"Oh, thanks for the whisky." 

"It's nothing, just a peace offering. See you." Tim almost ran out the door. 

Sean heard the toilet flush, and the bathroom door opened. "He's gone," he told Mac. 

"He came all the way over here to ask you to come back to work?" 

"We're friends." Sean felt unaccountably annoyed. "We see a lot of each other." 

"Mmmm. What did he bring?" Mac held out his hand, and Sean put the bottle in it. He watched as Mac studied the label. "It's a good whisky," he told Sean. "He had to hunt to find it." 

"I don't know much about these things." 

"Cost him, too." Mac looked him up and down. "He's a good friend, Sean." 

"I don't want to talk about Tim, all right?" 

Then Mac grinned, and all was right with the world in the light from that smile. "Neither do I." 

*************** 

In Oz, we don't think too much about what happens after you die. We may talk about it, with Father Mukada or the Muslims, or whoever, but we don't think too hard. Is there an afterlife? Is there some great sorting room in the sky, where St. Peter sends some to Heaven and the rest to Hell? Do we just get recycled into another body? None of us know, and few care. It'll be different, anyway. That's enough. 

*************** 

"I don't mind telling you that I'm very glad to see you." 

Mac's smile was anything but warm. Cory had, however, been on the receiving end of worse and forged on. "Rumors flew, Beast Woman gloated...do I have to tell you what an unpleasant sight that is?" 

"Howell." The way Mac said it, with a combination of distaste and curiosity, suggested to Cory that these still waters were running very deep indeed. "Did she? Perhaps she won't be pleased to see me." He had an odd, dreamy look in his eye, as if he was thinking of something other than Beast Woman. Then he laughed. "No, she won't be pleased to see me at all." 

"She got you into trouble..." 

"Out of which I got ere long, so don't worry about it. It's done." 

"Want me to set Amanda on her?" Cory asked, knowing that the gentleman in Mac was an almost insurmountable barrier to mayhem against what was commonly thought to be the weaker sex. Though, in the case of Claire Howell, all bets were off. 

Mac laughed again. "My money's on Amanda. But what about you? Are you any closer to getting killed?" 

"Mac, Mac, you don't love me at all, do you?" Cory said with a lewd smile. "You want to see me in my grave. Again." 

"There have been more than a few times when I've thought it might have been best to leave you in one of them. But I want to get out of here." 

"So do I. I've been working on a plan while you've been enjoying yourself." And it was true. For the last few days he'd been insinuating himself back into Vern's life. At first, it was almost nothing, just the odd stray touch, or meaningful look. But now he was prepared to go all out. "Shouldn't take much more than a few days." 

"And Keller?" 

"Is going to be harder." Cory caught MacLeod's sour expression. "But I'll manage. It's just that no matter what I do, someone is going to get hurt." 

"Beecher?" 

Cory nodded. 

"When did you grow a heart?" 

"I'm a romantic!" Cory joked. But it was true; the knowledge of what was going to happen to them bothered him. "Mac..." 

Mac tipped his head to the side and studied Cory as if seeing him for the first time. "You like them." It wasn't a question. 

"Yeah, I guess I do." 

"Joe's going to see if Beecher will make a good Watcher." 

Cory tried to fight the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He failed miserably. "I think that'd be the perfect career for him. Oh-oh...Aryans at nine o'clock." 

Mac nodded as if Cory had just told him something important. "Thanks, Raines. I owe you," he said just loud enough for the group to hear. Cory slipped away to work a little more witchery on Vern. Mac could take care of himself. 

*************** 

"Infernal thing!" Methos beat on the vending machine, hoping to dislodge the Snickers bar. 

There was a voice at his shoulder. "Here, let me." 

He turned to see Sister Peter-Marie behind him, a cup of coffee in one hand. He figured it was worth a shot. She might have some insight into the inner workings of the thing, so he stepped aside. 

With a wink, she aimed one good kick just below the glass. As her shoe connected, the glass rattled in its frame, and the candy fell. He gave her a grateful look handed him the bar. "Breakfast of champions?" 

He laughed. "Yeah, well, I tried the coffee. I've had motor oil that tasted better." Methos slouched into the nearest table and unwrapped the Snickers. 

"Me, too." She set her coffee cup down on the table and pulled a handful of change out of her pocket. "Mind if I join you?" 

He shrugged. "Not at all." In fact, it was a pretty good idea. He'd been meaning to talk to her, and this presented the opportunity. He waited for her to get her own Snickers bar and join him. They chewed in silence for a minute. He used that minute to plan his spiel. 

"It's high time we got to know each other, isn't it?" 

He sputtered, surprise and caramel preventing coherent speech. 

Sister Peter-Marie held his eyes frankly. "Since we're both involved in this Watcher thing, I mean." 

Methos swallowed. "Well," he blinked past the initial surprise, "I suppose we could skip the small talk." 

She smiled. "I take it Joe Dawson arranged this job for you?" 

Bristling, he tossed the rest of the candy bar onto the table. "As a matter of fact, I got the job all by myself. I'm a real doctor, Sister." 

"You're a Watcher." Her voice was accusing, and it chapped his hide. 

"I'm an Immortal, Sister." He stood up, the chair sliding back noisily. "And I'm a doctor, and a Watcher." 

*************** 

Cory made his way to the post office where Vern was hard at work with a newspaper and a cup of coffee. There was no one else around. Perfect. 

"What do you want?" Vern demanded, though without any real venom. The last few days had been an exercise in mindfucking him, and now Cory was gearing up for the main event. 

"Thought we could chat." 

Vern curled his lip and went back to his newspaper. 

"Vern...that's no way to behave to someone who wants to apologize." 

"Fuck off." 

Cory ran a finger lightly over Vern's hand. "That's not nice." 

Vern rolled his eyes and shook Cory off. "Nice?" 

"Me trying to be friendly and all. Trying to make it up to you." 

"Oh and how do you propose to do that?" Vern asked, dripping sarcasm. 

"I could ask to be moved back into your pod." 

"Are you insane or just stupid?" 

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he asked sweetly. 

"I did. I don't anymore." Vern's expression was an odd mixture of annoyance and interest. "You want something." 

"Yeah...can you guess what it is?" 

Vern made an exasperated noise. "Raines, what is it you want from me? The answer's no, by the way." 

Cory leaned in close and whispered a perfectly vile suggestion in Vern's ear and followed it up with a little lick. Vern pulled back and stared at him in shock. "Really. It's all I can think of when I'm alone in my bed at night. Is the answer still no?" 

"You are one sick ticket, Raines. What in God's name makes you think I'd touch you to do anything but cut your dick off?" 

"Because you're not getting it anywhere else, are you?" Cory purred, rubbing his hand over Vern's crotch. Oh, yes, Vern was interested. "You're all alone in that pod, and you are so tired of romancing your hand. I could be so nice to you, Vern. You and I could have a lot of fun together." He was using every feminine wile Amanda had ever taught him and a few more he'd picked up along the way. Vern was looking a little glazed. 

He still had presence of mind enough to say, "Why should I believe you?" He didn't push Cory's hand away, though. 

"No reason I can think of...but I'm willing to prove my sincerity." He slipped off his stool and went down on his knees in front of Vern. "Ease forward, Vern," he ordered, and Vern did. "That's right. You know Cory's going to be nice to you, don't you?" 

"You try to take a hunk out of me, and you're a dead man," Vern warned, and for a moment Cory thought that a well-timed bite might solve all their problems. But this was really too much fun. He stroked Vern's ass as he pushed his trousers down. Vern's breath hissed out through his teeth. 

"Like that?" 

"Just do it." 

So he did. He engulfed the man's straining cock in wet heat. He'd long ago learned to suck cock for favors, including the favor of staying unharmed. He even had a bit of a taste for playing bottom; he liked a little roll in the dirt. Vern wasn't the worst sexual partner he'd ever known, far from it. He might even be an interesting playmate if one could just beat the Nazi out of him. Cory sighed. 

"Problem there, sweetpea?" Vern asked. He was a little breathless. 

By way of reply Cory squeezed Vern's ass cheeks and felt a shudder run through the solid body. No problem at all, Cory thought with a little smile. 

*************** 

Speaking of death, if you were gonna commit suicide, how would you do it? Would you slit your wrists? Shoot yourself? Pop pills? There's always carbon monoxide, too, or maybe drowning. Would you be a jumper? Step in front of a cross-town bus? 

Me? I'd just piss off the wrong guy. 

*************** 

"What the hell is going on?" Chris leaned back in his chair and watched Raines cross the quad, headed for Schillinger's pod with an intensity in his steps that was seriously disturbing. Realization dawned when he spotted the mischief in Raines' eyes. "He's working an angle." 

"Yeah, he is," Ryan agreed. "Now if I could just figure out what angle that might be, I could be a rich man." 

Keller watched Raines enter the pod. Schillinger looked tense, but it wasn't anger or anxiety, rather it was the tension of expectation. Chris knew that look. He knew that old devil, Sex, had raised its head and laughed. Instinctively he looked for Toby and saw him standing near their pod watching Raines and Schillinger, too. There was an expression on his face that sent an odd twinge through Chris. He didn't know what it meant; he only knew that it hurt. 

He sighed. 

"What's up?" 

"Not a thing. You going to deal?" He'd sort it out later. 

*************** 

"This stuff ever fuck with your head?" Hill was staring at the row of instruments on the table. 

"Death? Used to," Methos admitted. "You?" 

"Death I'm okay with, it's getting there that seems like the problem. You see it all the time, don't you? People who didn't want to be dead but got there anyway. And it was a rough road for them." 

Methos nodded, thinking about the hard deaths he had seen, had felt. Some haunted him still; one in particular who still whispered inside his head at awkward moments. "For some, though, it's a blessing," he said softly. 

Hill looked thoughtful. "I hope," he said quietly, "that I'll fight it." 

Methos smiled. "You will," he assured Hill. 

*************** 

Ryan was feeling grumpy because he couldn't figure out how to make any money off this new and very bizarre twist on life in Oz. Raines and Schillinger had been at it for four days, and the goings-on in the odd corners of the prison had the entire population buzzing. Raines looked ravaged, like a man getting far too little sleep and far too much exercise. And yet, he also looked satisfied -- the proverbial cat who ate the canary. Schillinger wasn't his usual self, either. 

"He sure is nice to be around," Poet observed, acid tongue planted firmly in cheek. Ryan nodded, grim. The Aryan bossman's behavior had become more erratic as the days passed. He snapped at anyone for any reason, and especially for no reason. His fists flew easily and accurately, and most of his cronies had been on the receiving end at least once. The situation grew more volatile by the minute. Ryan made every effort to keep himself and his brother far out of reach. 

The Brotherhood was understandably edgy. Their frontman was, once again, getting way too involved with a prag. Shades of Beecher followed his every move. Ryan watched Robson watching Schillinger, and he could almost see the wheels spinning. Not an encouraging sight. 

There were, of course, a lot of opinions about this new development. The Muslims seemed sort of torn between worrying about the state of the two men's souls and rejoicing that their Nazi enemy seemed to be picking up speed as he plunged into the abyss. Keller was curious, Beecher didn't seem to be. When Ryan had asked, he'd just shrugged and said that he didn't really care what Vern did with his dick, now that none of his own orifices were targets. Of the guards on duty, only Murphy ever stopped them, and after the first few times, even he seemed prepared to give it up if Raines refused to complain. 

But the big shocker was early afternoon of the fourth day. Nothing had seemed amiss until lunch, when Raines and Schillinger had a short, heated exchange over their sandwiches, and Raines stalked off, leaving Schillinger sitting there looking bewildered. There was some general laughter, and Schillinger flushed a dark, angry crimson. He sat for a minute or two, and then made the considerable mistake of getting up and going after the younger man. 

The Aryans noticed. Everyone noticed. 

"Boy's got Schillinger by the short hairs, hasn't he?" one of the homies observed, just loud enough for the Aryans to hear. There was more laughter, but the white boys weren't amused. Ryan felt the resentment from across the cafeteria. 

A bit later in the afternoon, he saw Raines standing in the quad, watching a game of chess between Beecher and Keller. Schillinger stood a little apart, observing, and he seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something. Finally he approached Raines and said something to him. Raines shook his head. Schillinger spoke more sharply, and Raines just turned and gave him a withering look. The Aryan's jaw tensed, but he didn't react, he just stood there. Raines turned back to the game. 

Then Schillinger moved closer to him, speaking low and earnestly. He grabbed Raines' arm just above the elbow and was not shaken off, so he spoke again, and Raines sighed and said, "All right." They both turned away from the game and went back to Schillinger's pod. Keller watched them; Beecher did not. 

In the pod there was another exchange, and this time Ryan really did feel sorry for Schillinger because it was clear he was getting the worst of this round. Finally Raines said something to him that caused Schillinger's features to twist into a rictus of disbelief and rage. 

*************** 

"It's going down today, Mac. We need to talk," Cory mumbled the words for MacLeod to hear, but not loud enough to draw any attention. He waited until he was sure MacLeod was following him before ducking into his pod. 

Cory was a bundle of nerves, pacing the small pod like a caged cat. "It's all set. Schillinger's ready to explode." 

MacLeod reached out and grabbed his arm. "Hey, settle down, will you? You're making me jumpy." 

"How do you think I feel?" Cory ran a hand through his hair absently and flopped down on the bottom bunk. "I told him that night in the pod was staged. That Keller put me up to it for money. And that we took bets on the results." He hoped the Highlander knew which night. The entire prison had buzzed about it for days, and Cory had been cheered in the cafeteria. "He swore he'd kill Keller with his own hands." 

"And you?" MacLeod's face was expressionless. "Will he come after you?" 

"After what happened this afternoon? Yes." Cory stood up again, arms tightly crossed as he forced his feet to remain still. "I told him I got a cut of the profits. It's gonna be soon, Mackie-boy. Real soon." 

MacLeod nodded. He peered at Cory hard enough to make him squirm under the gaze. "You okay?" 

"Do I fucking look okay?" Cory barely kept his annoyance in check. 

He's been playing toady to Vern for four days. It had been fun at first, but the tension was beginning to show. He hadn't been this happy about dying in years. 

"Have you learned anything from this, Cory?" 

"The last thing I need is a lecture from you, MacLeod." Cory sighed and sank back onto the bed. "Just get me the fuck away from this place, okay? Get me out of Oz, and I'll leave the country for a while. I'll go straight, even. Just get me out." 

The expression on Mac's face softened. "I'll be there when you wake up. Just like old times." With a wink that wasn't exactly reassuring, he left the pod. 

*************** 

"I want that fucker dead! You hear me? Dead!" 

James Robson nodded, but he wasn't really paying attention. Vern had lost him somewhere around "get the fuck over here." Vern continued to bluster, demanding specific body parts from Raines, Keller, and Beecher to boot, but James was on his own train of thought. 

There had been a time when he'd do whatever Vern told him, no questions asked. He'd killed on command, delegated dirty work, hell, he'd even done' the bastard's laundry! And what did he get in return? Nothing. Not even a thank you. Still, it had been enough. Schillinger was the big man, and James had known his place. 

Now, though, Vern had gone too far. His relationship with Raines was too much. James wondered for about the twentieth time who was pragging who in that fucked up pod. And he wasn't putting any money on Vern. 

Maybe Vern was getting too old. Maybe losing his son had done something to him. James wasn't unsympathetic, but he wasn't stupid, either. The Brotherhood needed a strong leader; someone who could run things with an iron fist. Not some poor old fuck who'd let a prag get so far into his head he didn't know which dick went where. 

No, it was time for a change. It was time for the old to step aside and let the young run things. 

It was time, in short, for a coup. 

"You listenin' to me, Robson?" Vern finally ran out of steam. James just nodded, his mind caught up in plots and plans. 

Continue to Part 4


	4. Chapter 4

Methos sat in the lounge, his feet up on a table, sipping the sludge that passed for coffee and watching Mac maneuver around Sean Murphy. It was almost funny, the way they both tried very hard to act like nothing was going on. He debated leaving them alone, but decided against it. No, watching them squirm was much more fun. 

After a few minutes of awkward silence broken by even more awkward small talk, Murphy made his excuses and left. As soon as he was out the door, Mac pulled Methos up into his arms and kissed him fiercely. 

When he came up for air, Methos laughed. "Feeling guilty about something?" Mac stammered for a bit before Methos rescued him. "You can make it up to me later." He swatted Duncan's ass playfully, then returned to his seat at the table. 

Mac still looked a bit sheepish. Methos decided not to assuage the guilt; it made the "I'm sorry" sex a thousand times better. Instead, he got right down to business. "So it's all set up, then?" 

Mac nodded. "Cory says Vern's liable to go off at any minute. You're ready?" 

"Just make sure the bodies get to me quick. Keller should be out for a while, but there's no telling how fast Raines will be back." 

The door swung open, and McManus entered. "Hi, guys. How's it going?" 

It was as good a cue as any. Methos stood up and left, barely polite to the men he was leaving behind. 

*************** 

The library was deserted, much to Toby's surprise. Not even the librarian was around. With a bored shrug, he grabbed a book and took a seat, keeping an ever-alert eye out for trouble. It didn't take long. 

The door flew open, and Robson menaced his way across to Toby. As he got within arm's reach, he showed Toby the shank in his palm. "Hello, Bitch-er." His smile was ruthless. 

Toby was almost hypnotized as Robson tossed the blade from hand to hand, threatening in a low voice. The spell broke when the shank suddenly made its way toward his face. Toby threw the book up, deflecting the strike, and ducked under the table. 

"Help!!" he shouted at the top of his voice, not really expecting any. 

"Bitch-er, here, boy!" Robson knelt down and peered into the shadows. "C'mon out. We have some unfinished business, I think." The blade swished through the air, barely missing Toby's leg. 

He pushed his way out the other end of the table, chairs falling haphazardly. The door opened in, nearly smacking him in the face. He pulled his feet underneath himself, intending to stand and flee into the hallway. As he braced himself for the sprint, the force behind the open door met his eyes with a wink. 

"Chris? Where'd you--" 

Chris smiled and answered the half-asked question. "Somebody had to watch your back." 

As Toby stood shocked into stillness, Chris leapt over the table and tackled Robson. They went down in a tangle of limbs and chairs, grunting and scuffling. 

"Fuck!" 

"Get off me!" 

"Son of a bitch!" 

Toby couldn't tell who said what. Time dragged out, pulling like taffy. He watched arms and legs he couldn't identify flail and then watched with growing horror as a silvery flash traced the sweep of the blade. There was a stunned gasp and some more cursing. The air pressure seemed to drop, and Toby felt the hairs at the nape of his neck rise. 

"No!" Time snapped back into place as he rediscovered motion and rounded the table, adrenaline flowing. "C.O.!" He shouted at the top of his lungs as he ran, not caring that there might be trouble, only thinking of the shank in Robson's hand. Toby skidded to a stop beside the fighters, sliding in -- 

Sliding in blood. 

The door flew open. Mineo and Murphy threw chairs out of the way as they crossed the room. Mineo shouldered Toby out of the way. Mineo grabbed Robson and hauled him off Chris's back. Toby watched in horrified anticipation for Chris to move. It didn't happen. 

"Keller?" Murphy prodded him with his boot. "You all right?" 

Chris rolled over slowly, eyes squeezed tightly shut. He moaned, low and long, one hand clutching his side. Toby glanced down at that hand, the adrenaline draining away. It left him feeling hollow and empty. The hand was shining scarlet with blood. 

"No!" Toby was on his knees and at Chris's side in less than a heartbeat. He pulled the hand away and watched as the red puddle on the floor spread. The reality of the situation came crashing down. He gathered his lover into his arms and held him tightly, knowing it was for the last time. 

Chris coughed blood onto Toby's shoulder. He gave a little, croaking laugh and opened his eyes. "Hey, Toby. You okay?" 

"Me?" Tears ran unchecked down Toby's face. He ignored everything around them, focusing only on Chris. "You're worried about me?" 

The tension and pain slowly eased out of Chris's face. "Fuck, yeah, I'm worried about you. I'll be fine." He coughed again, weaker this time. 

"Chris, I --" 

"I know. I love you, too." 

A gasping sob broke out of Toby's throat. "You're gonna be okay. Dr. Nathan'll patch you up, and you'll be as good as new. You're hard to kill, right? Shot, shanked. You take a licking and keep on ticking." He knew he was verging on hysteria. He didn't care. 

"Kiss me." 

The words were so soft, Toby wasn't sure he'd heard them through his babbles. "What?" He leaned in closer. 

Another ragged cough tore through Chris. When it stopped, he nodded to Murphy, still standing over them. Toby watched as the hack turned away, an almost sympathetic kindness in his eyes. 

"Kiss me, Toby." Toby did, putting all the love he'd never spoken into the kiss. He didn't let go until the edges of his vision started to blur from lack of air. When he finally pulled back, Chris rewarded him with a smile. 

Toby stared at Chris's face until the last muscle relaxed. He would have held the body longer, but Murphy grasped his shoulder with a firm hand. 

"He's gone, Beecher." 

Toby nodded, not really hearing the words and not letting go. 

"Beecher." Murphy's voice was softer, gentler. "Toby, c'mon." 

With one last longing look, Toby set Chris down on the floor. He stood and followed Murphy out of the library, passing Mineo and a triumphant Robson at the door. 

*************** 

The gurney rolled through the swinging door, slamming it against the wall. With an irritated sigh, Methos stepped away from the microscope. "What have we here?" 

"A corpse," Howell snapped. "98K514. Keller, Christopher." 

Methos managed to short-circuit his immediate curiosity. "Let me guess. Shank?" 

Howell frowned. "You're Sherlock fucking Holmes, you know that?" She pushed the gurney against the wall and made for the door. "Hill's bringing his file." 

"Thank you, officer." 

*************** 

James Robson dragged his feet as Mineo hauled him to ad seg. He had to kill enough time for Jaz Hoyt to catch up. If it wasn't timed perfectly, he'd miss the chance to take out Vern. He stumbled deliberately, almost pulling the hack down with him. It did the trick. Hoyt passed by, a towel over his shoulder, headed for the gym. 

James met his eyes and nodded curtly. He mouthed the words "finish it" behind Mineo's back, not waiting for the biker's acknowledgment. 

"Move your ass, Robson!" Mineo wrenched his arm hard and yanked him down the hallway toward the Hole. 

*************** 

Cory dreaded gym time. Of all the places in the prison, it was the one spot he felt most vulnerable. Knowing that Mac had even been attacked there only made the anxiety grow. The fact that Vern was pummeling the heavy bag with vigor didn't help either. 

Cory hopped on the treadmill, mostly because it afforded him a good view of Schillinger. He cranked it up and started running flat out. The mindless motion allowed him time to scheme. He had to be ready for the attack, prepared to take the Nazi out with him if he could. 

His eyes flicked toward the door as Jaz Hoyt entered. Hoyt never just walked anywhere. He swaggered. Cory congratulated himself on that particular bit of insight as he watched Hoyt approach Schillinger. 

Something shifted in the air. Cory could almost smell the change, and it didn't bode well. When the action began, it was almost subtle. Hoyt stepped in close to Schillinger. They spoke a minute in voices hushed with caution. 

Vern's face went red and splotchy. Cory recognized the signs -- the Aryan was pissed. "Beecher? I told Robson to take out Keller!" His voice rose enough that Cory could follow the conversation. 

Hoyt smiled and nodded. "Keller's dead. Beecher got away." He put a hand to Schillinger's back. Until a red stain began to spread, Cory didn't realize Hoyt had shanked Vern. 

So Keller was dead. That meant it was time to act, ready or not. His original plan in shambles, Cory fell back on Plan B -- wing it. He jumped off the treadmill and shouted for a guard, then took on the biker. He made a point of dodging the shank the first few swipes, then stepped directly into its path. 

As the blade bit into his chest, Cory sighed in relief. It was over. 

*************** 

They say that when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. Like a bad episode of that show, "This is Your Life." You run through all the shit you did, good and bad. It's like a rerun of your entire life. The Book of Common Prayer says that "in the midst of life we are in death." Personally, I think it's the other way around. In the midst of death, we are in life. 

*************** 

Raines' body was brought down, still covered with blood. Methos pushed the gurney out of the way, prepared to focus on Keller. 

No one had bothered to close Keller's eyes, and the expression in them disturbed Methos. There was surprise in the deep blue eyes and perhaps just a touch of relief, as if shuffling off this mortal coil was something Keller had looked forward to for a long time. For someone like Methos, who still treasured every breath, even after five millennia, the notion was a little sad and a lot scary. 

Duncan came down as soon as he could get away. "How are they?" he asked, leaning against the wall. His eyes were beyond tired. 

"Still out. Looks messy." 

"It was. I don't ever want to do this again." 

"That makes two of us," Methos agreed. 

At that moment, Raines returned with a gasp. "Goddamn!" he yelled. "I am never doing that again." He sat up, running his hands through his hair. He carefully inspected the perfectly healed skin of his chest, poking two fingers through the bloody slash in his shirt. 

The creaking of wheels on linoleum drew three pair of eyes to the door. There wasn't even time to breathe before the door swung in with a soft whoosh and Augustus Hill rolled in, two manila folders on his lap. He coasted to a stop between the gurneys, and the doors swept back into place. 

It only took seconds for him to spot Raines. He grimaced. "Jesus! You need a doctor, man!" 

Nobody moved. A faint puzzled look crossed Hill's face as he scanned the room. His confusion grew as he looked down at the files he carried. "Oh. Somebody screwed up. McManus sent two files. Raines and Keller." 

Methos shook himself out of surprise. With stern silencing glares at the other Immortals, he approached Hill. "No one screwed up, Augustus." 

"Sure they did. Look." Hill held out the two files, clearly labeled. 

Taking the files and setting them aside, Methos picked up a scalpel from the autopsy tray. Hill flinched as if he expected his file to be the next one sent for. Methos laughed. "It's all right. I want to show you something." He slid the blade along the inside of his arm, opening a shallow cut. 

"Doc, you must be nuts!" Hill drew back a bit, but leaned forward again when a blue spark crackled along the length of the slice, leaving behind it flawless skin. "What the fuck?" He stared at the arm, then looked across at Raines. Cory wiggled his fingers, still stuck inside the split in his shirt. A second glance, this time at MacLeod, just earned a shrug. "What are you?" 

"It's complicated. And you can't tell anyone about this." Methos knelt beside the wheelchair. "I need your word on that." 

There was a long silence from Hill. Finally he asked, "Who would I tell? They'd toss my ass in the loony bin!" Hill shook his head in wonder. "I...I'm gonna go now. Okay?" He started the pulling motion that would roll the chair backwards. When the chair tapped the door, Hill paused and asked, "Hey, Doc, why'd you tell me?" 

Methos grinned at him. "I wanted you to know there's some magic in the world." 

Something flashed in Hill's eyes as he rolled the rest of the way out of the morgue. Methos thought it might be wonder. 

All three immortals tensed with the sudden awareness of a fourth. 

"That's Amanda with the van." Methos pointed Raines toward the black vinyl bag laid out on the table beside the gurney. "Get into the bag." 

"Ugh." Raines frowned, but climbed in. 

Methos all but ignored him. "I'll take care of Keller. Go!" 

Duncan zipped the bag closed and wheeled Raines out the door to the waiting vehicle. 

Before Methos could lay out the second body bag he had an unexpected visitor. 

"Sister! I don't know that you want to be down here right now," he said, placing himself between Peter-Marie and Keller's badly cut-up body. The woman had terrible timing. 

"I do want to be here, Doctor Adams. I need to say good-bye to Chris." 

"Really? You weren't on very good terms with him as I recall," Methos said, unable to resist a twist of the knife. 

"Which is precisely why I want a moment with him. Privately," she added. 

They faced off for a few seconds, then Methos said, "I'll be outside. The van is already here to pick him up, so make it quick." 

Before he got to the door, Peter-Marie asked. "Where's Raines?" 

Not so much of the grieving nun, eh, Sister? he thought. "In the van." 

"Already?" She sounded shocked, disappointed. 

"No point in wasting time, is there?" 

And then -- talk about bad timing -- the blue flame enveloped Keller's body, and Peter-Marie, who must've caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye, turned back to the gurney where Keller lay. She gasped as she saw the stab wounds and gashes close up, leaving the body untouched-looking. She didn't ask what was happening. 

And with a shout, Chris Keller was back with them, wild-eyed, ready to fight, and knowing...just bone-deep knowing that he had been dead. Well and truly dead, stone dead. And now he was alive again, and he didn't seem to be very happy about it. He started to hyperventilate, started making a weird keening noise that was somewhere between terror and despair, and Methos knew he'd have to do something or half the prison would be down here wondering what the hell was happening. 

He was about to shove the scalpel through Keller's heart when Peter-Marie pushed him away and caught hold of Keller's hands. "Chris! It's okay! Listen to me; you're okay." 

The noise died away, though he was still gasping and almost sobbing. 

"Chris, calm down. You're all right. I'm here, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You're all right." 

"Wh- wh- wh," he stammered. 

"Chris..." she stroked his cheek. "It appears that God has chosen you for something very special after all." She turned to Methos. "Help me here!" 

"You're doing just fine without me." 

"Why don't you just drop that older and wiser bullshit of yours and have a little compassion?" she snapped, which brought him up short. 

"You're right," he admitted. "Chris, listen to me now because I have something very important to tell you, and you have to concentrate. Understand?" 

Keller just stared at him. 

"Do you understand?" he repeated. This time Keller nodded. His breathing was starting to become slower, more regular. "Okay, you were in a fight; you were stabbed, and you died." He stole a look at Pete, who hadn't let go of Chris' hands yet. "You died and became an immortal, just like Cory Raines. Just like me." 

Keller looked at Pete who nodded. "Immortal?" 

"It'll take a while to explain, and we don't have the time, Chris. The van is waiting outside, and we have to get moving. We're taking you out of here. Now you can go alive inside the body bag, or you can go dead. Which do you want?" 

Pete waved him away. "You're confusing him, Doctor. Chris, in order for you to leave here safely, we have to get you into a body bag, as if you really are dead. I know that's a scary thought, but it's necessary. Will you be okay? You can't make a sound, remember." 

He took a couple of deep breaths, then whispered, "I can do it." 

"Good. I'll ride along." 

"You can't," Methos told her. 

"Just try to stop me, Doctor." 

*************** 

Chris was more than relieved when the bag was unzipped from the outside. He took a huge breath and felt the claustrophobia that had been looming recede. He sat up quickly -- too quickly, it turned out. His head swam, and there was a bright light throbbing behind his eyes. One hand went to his forehead, a thumb pressed to his temple to ease the pain. The other hand was grabbed. 

Sister Pete had hold of it. She smiled across at him, a desperate hope in her eyes. "Are you all right?" 

He nodded, trying to will the pain away. "I'm fine. Headrush." 

"That's how you know there's another Immortal around." 

Chris spotted the speaker; it was the new CO, MacLeod. Sarcasm sprung to his lips, unbidden. "Jesus Christ! Even dead I have to deal with fucking hacks!" 

"He's not really a CO, Chris." Sister Pete clung to his hand like she'd drown if he let go. "He was undercover to get you and Raines out of Oz." 

It was too much to process. His mind reeled. Undercover? Immortal? What the hell? 

"I'm Immortal, like you." MacLeod's voice was calm and even. Chris mentally latched onto it, hoping he could follow it back to sanity. 

"And me!" His head snapped around to see the woman waving from the passenger's seat beside Cory Raines. She grinned over her shoulder. "Remember me? Amanda?" 

"Raines' girl." Chris nodded. "Yeah, I remember." Chris turned his attention back to MacLeod and the nun. "Let's pretend I believe all of this. What happens now?" 

"You have to believe it," Sister Pete began, but MacLeod cut her off. 

"Now we get you somewhere safe so we can explain it to you." He put a hand on Chris' shoulder. 

Chris figured it was meant to be reassuring, but he shrugged it off. "What about Oz?" 

"Christopher Keller is dead." 

The phrase echoed in his soul. Christopher Keller is dead. The reality of it all came crashing down. "Dead? So I'm free? My sentence?" He pulled his hand away from Peter-Marie and shook some feeling back into his fingers. 

"That part of your life is over." MacLeod spoke with finality. "You have to become someone new." 

Hope fluttered in Chris' stomach. "Over? New?" He felt a little foolish, repeating things like a poorly trained parrot. 

"Everything you were, everyone you knew; it's all behind you now." 

It hit him like a sucker punch. "Everyone?" It was hard to breathe through the realization. "Toby?" MacLeod's response was stony-faced silence. Chris felt his heart beat against his ribs, demanding to be let out. Almost frantic, he caught Sister Pete's eye. "Toby?" It was a plea. 

She took up his hand again. "It's for the best." 

Stunned in disbelief, Chris shut his eyes. Leaving Toby behind, leaving him in Oz, was so painful he didn't think he could stand it. He'd wanted out of Oz from day one, but now he wanted back in. He wanted to believe that all this was a nightmare. Dying, waking up, learning about Immortals -- it sounded like a really bad Twilight Zone episode. He wanted Toby. 

In spite of what he wanted, he knew, deep down in his soul, that this was all really happening. He was Immortal, and Toby was still in Oz. No wanting would change that now. With a determined sigh, he turned toward the front of the van and stared out the windshield, watching silently as miles spread between him and Oswald. 

*************** Finis Authors' note: There's already a sequel in the planning stages. :-)


End file.
